Stage Whispers
by legolover
Summary: (Sequel to The Stage Manager) Molly Hooper keeps discovering there is more to Sherlock Holmes than meets the eye, but there is hardly time to crack the mystery that is the 'Consulting Director' when the Holmes Theatre company finds themselves, once again, involved in a theatrical scandal when Jim Moriarty makes his return with a Christmas gift no one saw coming.
1. Chapter 1

** Stage Whisper(s)- **_(n.)A loud whisper on a stage meant to be heard by the audience but not the other actors on stage._

**Ch. 1 **_**Tis The Season  
**_  
Nothing felt as majestic as Christmas in London. Choral music flowed out of towering gothic churches, the soft glow of bright lights burned in parks and shop windows, hot chocolate was served in abundance, and Doctor Who was saving the United Kingdom from certain disaster. There was cheer in the air despite the cold that nipped at rosy noses and cheeks which made even the grumpiest of individuals crack a small smile.

Molly always felt like Christmas was the time of year where you felt somehow healed and unafraid. It was kind of like getting a giant, bear hug right before being faced with new challenges. For Molly that was a continuing, permanent residence with the _Holmes Theatre Company_.

_The Seagull_ had been a triumphant success for the _'Little Theatre that Could'_ and Mycroft had graciously extended her contract through the upcoming season after murmuring a few platitudes of: "There are very few who could put up with my brother, Ms. Hooper. You have earned every right to remain with us."

It was probably the nicest thing Molly had heard the man say and she tucked it away as probably the last time he would be so pleasant with her.

Overall, Molly had experienced worse Christmases in her lifetime. Having a new group of lovely friends along with a job that didn't always make her want tear her hair out was a nice way to begin the New Year. Though there was one thing she was still getting used to.

When her permanency at the company was assured it seemed to have given Sherlock the go ahead to monopolize Molly's time whenever John was not within his reach.

Sherlock was polite about his requests (at least half the time he was) and Molly had a terrible time telling him no. Torn between the idea of wanting to spend time with someone who she genuinely did care about it in a variety of ways and wanting to distance herself so she could stop caring about the _'Consulting Director'_ as he sometimes referred to himself as when his genius was enlisted for help on productions with other companies.

Roughly a week after the final closing of _The Seagull_ in late November, Sherlock had brought Molly along on one of his Consulting Director excursions.

"Mycroft's idea of charity work," Sherlock said with a tight-lipped frown when he took her to her old workplace, _The Warton Children's Company_, who was doing their own rendition of _A Christmas Carol_.

"Why can't they ever do something original?" Sherlock had huffed when they had stopped in front of the company's cranberry-red poster for the show.

"It's tradition, Sherlock," Molly said with a small smile knowing he was about as understanding of this as a songbird was of swimming.

"Waste of perfectly good theater space and time if you ask me." He snorted as he pulled back from the poster and walked inside the building.

"Try not to say that in front of the children, Scrooge." Molly rolled her eyes and one of Sherlock's eyebrows quipped upwards at her statement.

Molly had heard on end how Sherlock despised this time of the year with its redundant tales and what he perceived to be false camaraderie between the worst kinds of human beings, namely one's relatives. He'd taken every opportunity he could to pick apart each new production of either _A Christmas Carol_ or _The Nutcracker_ as either a hack job of some former genius before them or of being entirely trivial and without merit.

The funny thing about his whiny, grumpy attitude was that Molly noticed whenever they passed by The Royal Opera House, which was featuring their own ballet company in _The Nutcracker_, he never paused to remark how incredibly mundane it was for them to put on the show yet again. In fact, the stage manager noted that while most would consider the casual glances Sherlock spared the spry dancers on lily-pink pointe shoes as disinterest, she saw heightened awareness that wasn't necessarily from irritation.

Unfortunately, she could never quite describe the emotions that flickered over Sherlock's face as they disappeared almost as quickly as they came, but there was a softness to his features that Molly wished she could forget. It only made her fall more in love with the man and she was doing her hardest to not succumb to the enigmatic, gasping need she had to be near him.

"Molly?" Sherlock pulled at her coat sleeve with a gentle tug when she hadn't moved from her spot near the entryway.

"Sorry," She said flustered as she pulled back from him to move inside.

They stopped in front of the doors into the main auditorium where the bombastic sounds of children at play gave the more introverted specters cause for hesitation.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Molly looked up at Sherlock who was now curling his fingers into his palms and then releasing them.

"You underestimate me, Molly," he said as they opened the door and the volume of the children's yelps increased ten-fold. "But to take a few precautions, don't wander too far." He surveyed the scene with a calculating gaze as the children turned to look at the new arrivals. A hushed silence fell over the crowd for a moment and then someone recognized Molly.

"Ms. Molly!" One little boy with a toothless grin squealed and children descended upon the pair like a horde of locusts.

Sherlock involuntarily moved closer to Molly as the children clamored up to them shouting and talking excitedly all at once.

Molly tried to greet everyone she could remember by name while Sherlock just looked at the squirming, twisting brood as though they were alien creatures.

"You're really tall." One little boy, Archie Delaney, with curly dark hair looked up at Sherlock with fascination.

"The benefit of a short friend," Sherlock said looking down at the boy who continued to stare at him with the same measured curiosity even as he got to hug Molly who he turned his adoring eyes on for just a moment before resuming his curious gaze on Sherlock.

"Alright, children, calm down! Calm down! Give them some breathing room." A middle-aged woman crossed from the center of the auditorium through the seats over to the Consulting Director and Stage Manager, giving the children a moment to scamper away. "Mr. Holmes, I'm so glad you're here, I'm Mrs. Agatha Fielding."

Agatha was the granddaughter of Eugenia Warton and now ran the prestigious company that she had once been an actor in herself as a child. She was a kind woman though very thorough and unwilling to put up with the nonsense of both the parents and the children who were a part of the company. She had saved Molly more than once from the ire of adults who perceived her to be incompetent and for that, the stage manager always regarded her with the highest amount of respect.

"Oh and Molly it is so good to see you again. I see your new employment is keeping you busy." She hugged the stage manager, her eyes flickering over to the director and back again to Molly as though silently asking her former employee whether she was being treated well.

"Where is your director, Mrs. Fielding?" Sherlock said cutting to the chase before Molly could formally greet the woman.

"Oh well—" Agatha twitched in agitation as she clamped her hands together.

"She's having a panic attack in the costume shop." Archie piped up. He was the only child who had remained by Sherlock and Molly. "She says she's not worried but you can tell that she's a total nutcase."

"Archibald Delaney!" Agatha scowled at the boy who shrunk back by Molly as the theater owner narrowed her gaze on him. "That is not a very nice thing to say."

"At least it's the truth," Sherlock said, a smirk plastered across his face. "Show me to her. I need to see the state of her director's book and notes before we can begin."

"You don't even know what you're walking into, Mr. Holmes," Agatha said surprised scurrying after Sherlock who was being happily led away by Archie.

"On the contrary, Mrs. Fielding, I know exactly what I am getting into," Sherlock said pausing before entering the backstage. "You might want to consider finding a replacement for this woman. Her expertise really isn't with children."

"I pride myself on picking only the best talent for my company, Mr. Holmes. Her resume is impeccable." Agatha straightened up to her full height. "I soused all of her references extensively."

"The benefits of a few favors owed and a healthy capacity for lying," Sherlock said in a non-committal attitude further insulting Agatha's strenuous hiring process. "Now, shall we begin?"

He hurried through the backstage leaving Agatha standing there with a bewildered look on her face as she turned to Molly.

"Is he always like that?" Her right hand pressed to her chest over her heart.

"You get used to it after a while," Molly said but then jumped when a loud crash was heard from backstage.

"Your director's book is as incompetently laid out as your stage direction to these children. Honestly, what kind of note is 'smile better'?" There came more crying from backstage as Sherlock continued to ramble on in his deductions. "Molly, I need you. This one's a crier!"

Molly shut her eyes and sighed. Sherlock Holmes never made defending him easy.

"Excuse me." She turned to her former boss with a small nod of her head and walked into the back where Archie was standing by the doorway enrapt in watching the Director flip through a thick binder that Sherlock kept mumbling over.

"This is much worse than I thought," Sherlock said tossing the binder with an unceremonious dump behind him. "At least your Stage Manager isn't so incompetent that he can't run this show. I am recommending you be fired immediately. I'm sure Mrs. Fielding would rather not a have a liar as her director."

"Please!" The woman in the center of the room was crying. Her dark hair was wild about her red-splotchy face as she heaved and gasped out shaky words. She floundered outward and attached herself to the edge of Sherlock's coat. "It will ruin me."

"You almost ruined an entire company with your directions. I find it only fair to have you removed." Sherlock ripped his coat from her fingers. "I'm not surprised the children decided to not listen to someone who continually insults their intelligence. Only the lowest of persons make those who are still in their formative years feel like idiots."

When Sherlock looked up Molly was startled to see anger—true anger—etched on his features before they condensed into a calm look as he caught sight of Archie who was staring at him in awe.

"Archie, go round up the children. We're starting from the top of the show," he said to the boy who beamed at the older man and nodded.

"Guys, guys! He got rid of the dragon lady!" The little boy ran screaming down the corridor onto the stage and was met by a chorus of cheers.

"Get Mrs. Fielding in here as soon as you can." Sherlock moved toward Molly as he kept a watchful eye on the crying mess of a director on the costume shop floor. "I believe Rebecca is about to resign her position." This only produced another high-pitched whine from the woman as fresh new tears descended down her face.

Molly gave him a curt nod before dashing off to get Agatha. She'd seen her director upset, annoyed, even irate in the past month, but there was this intensity in the way he clutched his hands behind his back and his lips formed into a tight line that made Molly wonder who in Sherlock's own past had made him feel as worthless as this woman had with the children of the Warton company.

When Agatha was fully briefed of the situation by Sherlock over not only Rebecca's credentials, but the way she had treated several children, the owner spared the other woman no quarter as she fired her and immediately had one of her assistants send out word to the other theater houses to be aware of the lying wretch. It was the final nail in the coffin that would end Ms. Rebecca Palfrey's theatrical career in England forever.

"I cannot believe that I let someone so cruel near these poor things." Agatha collapsed into one of the plush, velvet theater seats with Molly beside her. "Mr. Holmes found something I pride myself in being knowledgeable over. No wonder I had so many parent concerns over the production. I thought they were just being as ridiculous as always."

Molly squeezed Agatha's hand in sympathy.

"It's all over now." She reassured the woman with a gentle murmur. "It could have been much worse."

The two women blanched at the thought as they turned their gaze on Sherlock who was speaking in rapid fire sentences at the stage manager Gary Brown about the state of the production.

"We open in two weeks, Molly." Agatha heaved a great sigh as she leaned back in her seat and looked at the state of her theater. "How on earth will we accomplish all of what must be done by then?"

Molly worried her lip as she looked over the unfinished set, the children whose costumes appeared ill-fitting, and the poor stage manager who was now burdened with a heavier workload. It was an impossible task. The director had given no one any direction as to where the show was going and had changed her idea at least three different times judging by the clashing costumes and set design. However, Molly Hooper felt unusually optimistic.

"Trust in Sherlock, Aggie." Her voice just short of a low murmur. "I've only known him for a short while, but he's pulled off things which I thought for sure would be impossible."

Agatha nodded, glossy-eyed from worry as she watched Sherlock walk through the crowd of children and up to the two women.

"Mrs. Fielding, I think that your production will be fine; however, I'd suggest you take over directorial duties. Gary is…not as confident in that sector as you are," Sherlock said and Molly silently applauded him in being diplomatic in how he phrased his sentence.

"Whatever must be done to save this production." Agatha stood and blinked back her tears. "Tell me what we must do, Mr. Holmes."

For a second, Molly had been sure that Sherlock had been expecting a fight of some sort from the theater owner, but when she whole-heartedly agreed to his expertise it seemed to have lessened the tension that had built up within his system. He'd been so used to unwilling listeners before that Agatha's acquiescence to his direction gave him room to pause and, Molly noted, spare a glance to his stage manager that was akin to a silent "thank you". Molly inclined her head to her director in acknowledgement before he rambled off his suggestions to Agatha who was an attentive listener.

Overall, the production had to be gutted and revamped under Sherlock's guidance. Gary and Agatha were more than willing to take his ideas to heart and soon they had a well-formed plan that would allow them to open in the first week of December without delay.

The one thing that Molly had been unsure of was when Sherlock had decided to speak with several children one on one. These small creatures were not a part of his own expertise and Molly was nervous that he might make some rude deduction about the children's parents or their performance. This was not the case though. Sherlock was honest and to the point like he always was except he made his notes seem encouraging instead of deprecating.

In fact, the moment he'd come out of conversation with Archie Delaney the boy had hugged him and thanked him so profusely that Sherlock was almost sent into shock. It made Molly smile to see Archie follow Sherlock around the rest of the afternoon as he assisted with the show. There were a few moments where Sherlock seemed to have some discomfort over the attention, but soon he was asking for Archie's ideas on things while Molly was relegated as a simple watcher of the spectacle.

At the end of the period, Agatha was well equipped to send the production on its way and had turned to Molly with a smile and said: "I understand why you decided to stay with them."

If it was an inference of Molly's feelings or just the observation of Sherlock's brilliance at work, the stage manager wasn't sure, but she did not press the matter and simply wished her former boss the best of luck in the continued production.

The children were lament to see their new friends go at the end of day, but none so much as Archie who followed after Molly and Sherlock as they assembled their scarves and coats to brace themselves for the winter chill outside. The young boy came to a stop by the director who was readjusting his blue scarf with care.

"Yes, Archie?" Molly looked to the boy who continued to stare at Sherlock as though he was the most fascinating man on the planet.

"Will you come back and tell me some more about your plays? Like the Scottish play where someone actually died?" His brown eyes were aglow with eagerness while Molly closed and opened her mouth repeatedly.

"Sherlock, you can't—"

"Perhaps." Sherlock cut off Molly, stiffening when the young boy latched himself around the director's middle and smiled up at him.

Molly felt her agitation deflate a fraction at the sight of them. She'd yet to see someone, who had just met her director, express such genuine affection for the man and by the look on Sherlock's face this was as foreign exchange for him as it was for her.

"You're cool, Sherlock," Archie said as Sherlock patted him on the back with tempered affection.

"Thank you," The director said seeming genuinely confused when the boy released him and then turned to Molly to give her a hug.

"I missed you, Ms. Molly," he said finally turning that focused gaze on her. "Will you come back with Sherlock?"

"If I can," Molly said running her hand over the top of Archie's curls before they said their goodbyes and made their way out into the dark chill of the early evening air.

As soon as they were out in the open air, Molly turned to her director with curiosity. He was continually full of surprises that in small ways explained why he acted the way he did. It was dizzying though trying to connect the man she worked for with the man she'd just seen inside the theater.

"Molly, if there is a question you need to ask I suggest you do so before we freeze out here," Sherlock said turning from profile to face her.

"You handled the children well, Sherlock." For once she'd managed to sputter out the sentence in a clear voice. She'd been so startled by how he'd acted in the rehearsal hall she wasn't sure she'd be able to compliment him without stumbling over her words since the whole day had been incredibly odd. "It was sweet of you."

Sherlock hummed with a small laugh as he gazed down at her.

"Don't tell anyone. I have an international reputation to uphold," He said with the appropriate amount of humor that made Molly snort with laughter.

Oh, if he continued to be this surprising it would be harder to let go then she originally thought.

"Molly, why did you leave here? You're obviously adored by staff and the children. It's not as though your transition into our company was a smooth affair. You could have remained happy here." Sherlock rarely asked personal questions and it caught the woman off-guard. She would have assumed that he would have already ascertained the truth the moment Mycroft hired her.

"Everyone has to move on in their career, Sherlock," Molly said picking at the ends of her long stripped scarf. "And Wharton's was lovely for a time but…it wasn't the right fit for my aspirations." Then she frowned at him a little. "Besides, who says I'm not happy?"

Sherlock's face pinched into a frown when he found a puzzle he couldn't solve.

"You're… happy?" His mouth moved around as though the word seemed out of place for their conversation and Molly supposed that to him it would seem strange for her to think that way.

"I wouldn't have stayed if I wasn't." Molly reassured him. "You haven't scared me off yet, Sherlock."

"Just wait till next season," Sherlock said as a tiny smirk graced his features at her response. He looked back out at the busy streets, crowded with people who were out doing early Christmas shopping and turned up his coat collar. "Goodnight, Molly Hooper."

"Goodnight." Her breath caught in her throat as she watched the director walk off into the setting sun like a pale hero from a romanticized American cowboy film.

"You are a mystery, Sherlock," she said to herself as she pulled a knit cap over her head and walked in the opposite direction, burning with the knowledge that she was only just starting to understand who the man beneath the Belstaff really was.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry it took me so long. It was hard to pin down how to go about this installment after the new season. I appropriated what I could and changed things around, but it's all essentially Sherlock. Updates might be harder this go around, but my hope is that it will be a short story worthy of the wait. :) Also, I am working on getting a beta so please be kind in regards to any grammar or spelling mistakes you find.  
**  
Disclaimer: I don't Conan-Doyle's characters or BBC Sherlock. This is just for fun. Enjoy! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Ch. 2 **_**On This Night  
**_  
Gifts were not a hard thing for Molly to pick out. Where most people found themselves stalking store shelves befuddled or haphazardly buying the first thing they could find, Molly was calm as well as thoughtful in her approach and (usually) always correct in her assessment about who she was buying for. Her father once said it was because she, like her mother, took the time to listen to others.

"People always like to talk, Molls." He used to say to her from the aged comfort of his recliner. "If you listen carefully you'll know what they are truly saying in that moment. It's not all just idle chatter."

Except in this instance Molly found her quieter nature and superior listening skills frustratingly of no use to her because the last person she had to buy a gift for was Sherlock _Bloody_ Holmes, the man who didn't express personal things out loud to anyone or if he did it was wrapped up in its usual mask of sarcasm and arrogance.

Molly had been on the hunt since the closing weeks of _The Seagull, _having attempted to help the cast find an appropriate director's gift. They'd eventually just given him another deerstalker (he'd carefully hidden the other one) with his name sewn on the inside like a child does to their favorite toy.

It was a gag gift and Molly felt it hadn't been suitable for what the man had just accomplished so she had continued her search. Except now it was Christmas time and she had yet to find anything that would remotely fascinate her wayward director.

Deep down Molly knew she should just give up and forget getting the man a gift. It wouldn't be as if he cared anyway. Her brain constantly reminded her that she had very little left of the youthful exuberance it took to ignore caution and take a leap of the heart that would surely leave her broken on the pavement, that tried to persuade to not do this to herself yet again. These moments were often lead her back to that night she had spoken with Mycroft over his brother and sentiment.

However, this was not just a case of bestowing some trinket of the heart. It was to gift the most obstinate man she knew an acknowledgement that he had done something truly good for the people around him. That Sherlock Holmes had a way of being a great man while also being a good one.

That sole thought was how Molly found herself the Friday before the annual company Christmas party wandering through shop after shop determined to find her director a gift because this was something important, this was something special.

_What do you get a man who doesn't really want for anything?_ Molly thought as her belly rumbled and she noticed her nose had gone shockingly pink from the cold outside.

She let out a puff of warm air as she determined her search could wait until she at least find some food. Her quest for a café though came to an abrupt halt though when she heard her name being shouted. She looked up and around, confused for a moment as she didn't immediately recognize the voice, before her eyes settled upon Archie Delaney as he came running up to her.

"Ms. Molly! Ms. Molly!" His curly hair flew around him as he barreled his way straight into Molly's arms, nearly knocking the stage manager over in the process.

"Hello, Archie." Molly laughed and squeezed the boy in hug as his mother came rushing up to them.

"Archie, what did I tell you about running off?" Mrs. Laura Delaney was a tall, plain-looking woman with the same dark abundance of curls as her son. She had a warm spirit about her and had been one of the few theater mothers who Molly had found great joy in working with at Warton's. "Molly, it's very good to see you again."

"And you too, Laura." Molly smiled as the pair embraced for a brief hug.

"Archie was telling me all about your visit to Warton's with…what was his name, darling?" She looked down at her son.

"Sherlock Holmes!" Archie jumped at the answer with an eager nod before looking back at Molly. "Will you two be able to come back soon?"

"If we can," Molly said, her smile growing wider at how taken the boy was with Sherlock. "He's a very busy man."

"I don't know what Mr. Holmes told him, but Archie has really taken to the stage this past week." Laura beamed with the soft glow of a proud parent. "Apparently, Mrs. Fielding says he's learning his lines much more quickly and he's less nervous."

"I'll be sure to let Sherlock know that he helped." Molly vaguely wondered if her director would even care. Then again, he'd been full of more than a few surprises as of late.

"We need to get going. We're meeting my husband and daughter for _The Nutcracker_," Laura said taking Archie's mitten covered hand in her gloved one.

"The ballet is so boring. Can't we go to the movies instead?" Archie pleaded with his mother who shook her head.

"This is your sister's birthday and she wanted to go to the ballet. End of story," Laura said smiling at Molly. "We'll see you around."

"Bye Ms. Molly." Archie waved as he skipped off with his mother.

"Have fun," Molly waved goodbye. For a moment she felt the sharp pang of sadness over not being able to spend Christmas with her own family and tried to keep her eyes from glossing over as she said her goodbyes. She shook her head in a physical attempt to free herself from her sorrowful thoughts and made to go find the nearest café to get some food.

As she rounded the corner she came to a stop which caused a few pedestrians to jostle her in an angry huff as they hurried to finish their own Christmas shopping. Molly didn't care though. In fact, she was nearly breathless with giddiness because had finally discovered the only gift that seemed to make sense for Sherlock Holmes. She turned and headed back for a bookstore she passed a while go, silently praying that this would be the end of her search. After all, he never said he abhorred _The Nutcracker_.

* * *

No one ever cited Molly Hooper as being a fashonista. She dressed for comfort and her closet consisted of mostly nice, black items that washed out her coloring but came with the territory of working backstage in theater. However, Molly had always been a vivid, colorful kind of girl so buried behind the rows and rows of dark, nondescript clothing was a variety of things in a dashing array of pigments. That did not mean that the choices made Molly any less worrisome over her attire.

It had been a great trial trying to get her hair to curl the right way (she'd burned one of her fingers in the process), to make sure that her makeup was perfect (it took her three different tries to make it look like she wasn't trying too hard), and that she didn't have any cat hair on her blue cocktail dress or sparkly, white snowflake cardigan (at least the colors coordinated). Despite the mishaps, by the time she had gathered up her bag of Christmas gifts and was out the door she was feeling confident about her choices which she tried to tell herself that her efforts were not impress any one particular person.

All of that grinded to a halt though as she walked out to a main road to catch a cab and it started to rain in thick, icy droplets. That part wouldn't have been as bad except now everyone was hailing a taxi and there was a general free-for-all in a mad scramble to get out of the abysmal weather especially when you didn't have an umbrella which Molly, for all her careful planning, had forgotten today.

When she did manage to hail a cab after having to walk a bit to find some coverage from the rain she wished she'd worn her more sensible flats instead of the heels that pinched her toes. Matters only worsened when she pulled up to the theater and was remiss to notice that the icy droplets had now turned to snow.

_Splendid,_ she thought with joyless sarcasm.

"Watch your step there, miss," the cabby said after she had paid him.

Molly numbly thanked him for his concern and carefully teetered her way into the theater with her packages. Once inside, she threw off her outer coat to try to alleviate it of the slick sheen of rain water and snow. It didn't help much.

The only saving grace to the whole experience was that Molly had access to what most women did not when they encountered such situations: A fully stocked makeup room devoid of all signs of life.

She stumbled through the lobby into the backstage area and into the enormous makeup room where she rummaged for a hair dryer and a clean towel to help cloister her from the damp of the elements outside.

For fifteen minutes she attempted to salvage what she had done her hair, ultimately failed in this endeavor and limply pulled out her curls into a side, fish-tail braid that didn't look too unusual with her get-up.

"Oy, what are you doing back here?" Molly turned to find Mary, dressed in festive greens and reds with rouge tinted cheeks, lighting up the dark entryway of the makeup room door.

"Drying out and redoing my hair." Molly admitted with a sigh as she turned the hair dryer onto her black patent heels which were now only _partially_ moist from their tango with the snow and rain instead of sopping wet. "I thought I would miss the rain and didn't realize it would snow later so now I'm just cold…and soggy."

"You look pretty though."

Molly looked at herself in the mirror then backed to her friend and snorted with a huff of disagreement. While Mary looked l akin to a Christmas angel, Molly felt she looked more like a drowned snowflake.

"No, really! You do," Mary said as she ran her hand over Molly's hair and down her braid, narrowing her gaze in a cheeky manner. "Bit much for a Christmas party unless you're trying to impress someone though I don't think Sherlock is partial to glittery snowflakes."

"Mary, no!" Molly's face broke out in a splotchy red blush that made the other woman giggle like a teenager.

"Oh come on, don't be so shy," Mary said leaning on the edge of the makeup counter and crossing her arms over chest. "I think it's rather adorable how much you like him. Although I have to admit John and I really don't know how your heart manages to put up with the man half the time."

"He's not all bad." Molly mumbled putting away the hair dryer, her shoes dry enough to be comfortable again. "Besides, nothing is going to happen. I don't like him like that."

"You're a terrible liar, Molly Hooper." Mary laughed giving her a loving kiss on the cheek. "But let's not argue about it. We need to get you some liquid courage before you give your Christmas gift to Sherlock."

"Wait, how—"

"It's sticking out of the top of the pile, darling." Mary grabbed Molly's coat and then the other woman's hand. "I promise Sherlock didn't invent the whole deductions game."

The pair walked through the backstage past a few couples who were huddled in the darkness either squabbling or looking for a quiet place for an intimate moment before walking out onto the brightly lit stage.

"Molly's here!" Mary announced over the Christmas music in a booming stage voice. There were several cheers from the group before they turned back to their drinks as Mary pulled her friend along to the theater house where they dumped her coat and sack full of presents in the auditorium seats.

"I'm glad I convinced them to keep the set up from the Christmas Carol till the party was over," Mary said. "Gives it a bit of the homey touch."  
Molly had to agree even though she knew that the Holmes boys were about as happy with the arrangement as a dog is with a flea bath. Uncomfortable and horrendous in their opinion, but necessary in the eyes of everyone else.

"Though tedious," Mycroft had said with a long sigh. "Commercial plays are important to the well-being of our company. No matter how obstinately distasteful they may be."

Molly remembered Sherlock being far less keen on the idea than his brother and would routinely inform Molly of this whenever there was a moment to be spared.

Tonight though Molly agreed with her theater manager. The stage was bedecked in the trappings of a traditional English home in the 1800's illuminated under the glow of reds, greens, and soft yellow lights. Overhead a large projection screen, usually used for ghostly effects during the show, had the words "Merry Christmas" with animated snowflakes falling around it. People lounged on the set furniture and laid out a full bar out of Scrooge's wardrobe while a table from backstage supported all kinds of other goodies. It was a ridiculous scene and yet Molly felt a happy surge of energy flow through her. It was magical and she loved it.

"Here, you ladies are." John Watson walked down the stage steps and handed the two women each a cup of white wine. "Best get drinking before Mycroft decides to make any annual Christmas announcements."

"Like what?" Molly forced herself to sip her wine instead of downing it all in one large gulp.

"Don't know." John shrugged. "Last year he spoke about how _Les Misérables_ was not a valid show for us to do. Apparently he was forced to go see it with his parents. It's usually funnier with a drink or two in you."

"Then I propose a toast in honor of you rescuing us from such a fate," Mary said with a keen, sweet smile. The trio laughed as they clinked their glasses together and took a swig of the wine.

Molly watched as Mary and John made bedroom eyes at one another thinking they were being secretive when they were really about as subtle as sugar to a cavity.

_Time to find Sherlock,_ she thought.

"Um…do you know where Sherlock is?" Her voice wavered towards the end of her sentence and she quickly took another sip of wine to cover the onslaught of butterflies in her stomach.

"Try the tech booth. That's where he usually shuts himself up when we do these things," John said with a gentle nod upwards.

"She got him a gift." Mary hummed in pleasure over the situation while John did a double take over the announcement.

"A Christmas gift?" His eyes widened as the couple looked at Molly.

"Well…I…I hadn't gotten him a director's gift and then Christmas was coming so now it's a Christmas gift." Molly stammered off as John continued to stare at her flabbergasted. "It's not that big of a deal."

"That man rarely gives gifts let alone receives them." His face pinched into one of concentration as though he was working out a jigsaw puzzle that didn't have any edge pieces to it.

"Stop making that face!" Mary swatted her boyfriend on the arm. "Can't you tell you're making her nervous?"

"Right—sorry," John said. Blinking and clearing away his befuddled look to replace it with one of a more neutral, hopeful nature. "I'm sure he'll love…whatever it is you got him." Then he frowned again with newfound curiosity. "What did you get him anyway?"

Molly was about to speak when Mary cut her off.

"No, no, no," she said. "Don't tell us. We'll find out later once Sherlock gets his gift. Now off you pop." Mary made a shooing motion with her left hand and Molly gave them both a timid smile in response as she picked up Sherlock's gift and set aside her wine glass before making her way up to the second floor balcony to the darkened tech booth.

She stopped for a moment outside the door as she stared down at the carefully wrapped red package with simple gold bow and wondered if maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

That did not, however, stop her from knocking politely on the door.

"I do not want to play any of your trivial Christmas games, Wiggins." Sherlock groaned as Molly opened the door.

"Not Wiggins," She said with a smile while holding the gift behind her back.

"Oh." Was all Sherlock managed to say when she walked in.

He blinked at her as she closed the door. He was not in a welcoming mood and Molly felt her earlier tension return. Maybe she should have gotten another drink before coming up here.

"Sorry, I know you'd rather be alone—"

"Amazing how knowledge of that never ceases to quell people's need to come seek me out." Sherlock had refocused his gaze back on the stage. His eyes distantly trained on another world of thoughts.

Molly swallowed down the bitterness of his words and placed the package before the director, realizing that the sooner he got his gift the sooner she could leave him to his sulky mood and end her own torture.

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock." Molly's whispered words brought a look of shock to the man's face as he looked from her gift then to her and back again. She continued on when he remained silent and unmoving for another moment.

"It's nothing grand and I hadn't gotten you a director's gift yet so…" She trailed off, downplaying her search for the appropriate gift. "I just had a feeling you might want this in your collection."

Sherlock ran his fingers over the red paper and removed it with surgical precision which she couldn't tell was deliberate or just a part of his persona. He opened up the box and pushed aside the tissue paper to reveal a leather bound portfolio stamped with his initials. He undid the binding, his fingers brushing the insignia on the leather flap with interest.

Molly saw his face turn into one of understanding as he removed the sheet music to Tchaikovsky's _The Nutcracker_.

"You play the violin so beautifully and I don't know." Molly looked down at her stocking clad legs. "You get this look on your face when you talk about _The Nutcracker_ and I thought…well…just…" She stopped talking as his silence continued to grow, making an intangible wall between them.

"Was I wrong?" Her voice was tiny and seemed far away. She had thought this was right. It was the only thing that seemed to make sense to her yet he wasn't saying anything and she didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

Sherlock stood up and looked at Molly. Truly, stared at her in the most uncomfortable manner that she had ever witnessed from him and stated: "You bought me a gift."

"I thought you didn't like it when we stated the obvious," Molly said trying to laugh off the moment altogether, but Sherlock did not crack a smile, just continued to peer down at her in a way which made Molly think he was reading all the small signs of her horrid adventures in getting here. She expected him to make a quip about it all. To make his deductions and scare her off. It was how he coped with things. Yet all of Molly's understanding of her director's brain did not ease the tension that was continuing to build in her body as he remained emotionally closed to her over whether he liked the gift or not.

"Sherlock, if you don't want the gift I can—"

"I did not say that," He said coming out of his trance to frown for a moment.

"So you…like it?" Molly ventured out a guess, but he didn't respond to the question.

"You're more observant than I give you credit for, Molly Hooper." He was close now. Much closer than before and as he leaned forward with an unintelligible look in his eyes, Molly felt her heart speed up and her eyes widen as he placed a whisper of a kiss onto the tender hollow of her left cheek. "Thank you." He said. His breath tickling her ear as he slowly drew back up to his full height.

She flushed a crimson red, unknowing why such an action was warranted from him, but appreciating it none the less.

"You're welcome." They stood there again like two awkward teenagers and Molly, flushed with happiness, was about to recite some incredibly corny Christmas joke when Sherlock's phone twittered un-romantically from his pocket and effectively ended whatever moment they were about to have.  
Sherlock scowled in annoyance as he turned from Molly to pull out the offending object just as the power in the theater faded and they were left in darkness minus the glow from his phone.

There were audible groans from down below on the stage before the emergency lights kicked on and the projection screen above the stage went to static before turning black. Then it slowly began to illuminate again. Everyone's groans and confusion turned into gasps of disbelief as Jim Moriarty's face filled the screen. His soulless, black eyes looked out at the masses. No trace of emotion on his face as he said: "Did you miss me?"

The message looped in a distorted whine three or four times before Molly pulled herself together and rushed over to the projection screen computer in an attempt to end the video. Her efforts were in vain though as she turned to Sherlock, who had his gaze still focused on the screen outside.

"He's done something to our system. It won't let me back in," she said.

Sherlock made no acknowledgement of her comment as he sprinted back downstairs, his present forgotten on the light board.

Molly scrambled after the director to the auditorium, stopping only for a moment to remove her damn uncomfortable shoes.

The pair of them entered the theater just as the screen flickered and then whirled like a slot machine as Moriarty's face was replaced by random letters. Another beat and the letters slowed down one by one to reveal a list of shows that Molly had the sickening feeling was their upcoming, and extremely secretive, season.

"Is that—"

"Yes." Sherlock cut her off, answering her deepest fear as he hurried up on stage to Mycroft with Molly in hot pursuit.

"Sherlock, what's going?" John walked up to the group huddled in the corner.

"Christmas is cancelled," Sherlock said as he turned to Mycroft who was on the phone and wearing a confused, angry expression on his face.

"That's not possible." Mycroft's voice was soft as he looked up at the screen. "That is simply not possible."

"He's done it then, hasn't he?" John looked to Mycroft and Sherlock for confirmation.

"All of it," Mycroft said with a sigh as he ended his phone call. "He's leaked the whole season."

"But it's much worse than that," Sherlock said as he narrowed his gaze on Mycroft who was gripping his phone so tightly Molly thought he might break it.

"Everything we had planned. All of our guest directors, all the designs, everything has been appropriated for his venue." Mycroft paused as though it was physically painful to continue speaking. "We have nothing."

* * *

**A/N:** For those of you wondering, Sherlock's gift will go into more detail in future chapters. On another note, I hope you all enjoyed this as it was a real treat to write. :) Thank you all so much for your reviews. You guys are the best!

Ray: I'm so happy you're back! May you enjoy this as much as the last installment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch. 3 **_**The Actress**_

Midnight struck on Christmas, officially ending the holiday, yet Molly felt no festive cheer as she stared at the bright twinkle of her tree lights. The colors fractured in various patterns as they danced off objects in the darkness of her home. From an outsiders perspective it looked serene yet there was a mental war building inside of the stage manager as her thoughts churned bleakly around the state of the _Holmes Theatre Company_.

No one had called in the past five days. There were no mysterious black cars whisking her away to speak about what the plan of action would be or even if they had figured out how Jim Moriarty had managed to get a hold of their most prized possession. The immense wall of silence left Molly with only one thing to do: _Worry_.

It's what stage managers did best when things weren't going well. She'd gone over the problem a hundred times in her head yet she always came to the same conclusion that there was nothing she could do to help alleviate the situation. The lack of control was the most awful feeling in the world to her. She'd tried to talk to John or Mary about it, but even they didn't have any real answers for as to what was happening.

"It all hinges on Mycroft's investigation," Mary had said one day to her after having broken away from her meetings with Mycroft to see Molly. "If he can't find out how deep the betrayal goes we'll just be facing an ongoing threat. That's no way to function."

There had been rumors that Mycroft had wanted to get rid of everyone altogether which Mary had neither confirmed nor denied when she spoke with Molly though both women agreed that it was highly unlikely it wouldn't come to that.

"Besides, who would babysit Sherlock? You and John are the only ones that can get him back to his senses most days." Mary had grinned at the statement while Molly gave a limp smile in response.

She didn't see how her usefulness in keeping the consulting director out of trouble would help her keep her job. It may have been difficult to find others to work with the moody director, but she was not inclined to believe that she was something special in the grand sphere of the company. One day Mycroft might deem her the weakest link and, as sure as rain, fire her. She wouldn't put it past the man especially considering the scrutiny he was putting them all under.

Mycroft had hired a private security firm to vet all of the troupe members (from himself to the costume intern) to make sure that everyone was above board. Molly assumed that silence from the Holmes camp meant that they still hadn't found what they were looking for. This only increased her nausea over the situation because that meant Moriarty had not only stolen their season, but also the company's trust.

The faith it took to realize that the people on and off stage had your best interests at heart was a serious matter. To have that destroyed by something as simple as a few more zeroes added to the end of a check or the right kind of pressure to some coddling need made Molly wince. Who would have traded in their loyalty for something so petty?

She wished she could say no one; however, she knew that everyone had a weakness and if Moriarty could easily tap into hers then he could certainly find something deeper on other company members.

So here she was, Christmas night with a forgotten cup of tea and only one thing on her mind: Where was she going to go if the _Holmes Theatre Company_ went under? Especially this late in the season.

Greg had been the first to inform her that none of the actors really had much of a choice if everything went to pot.

"I don't doubt that Moriarty's company will be the only with any available slots and even that will be limited." He'd then coarsely grumbled that he'd rather go back to working as a security guard for a season than ever bow down to work for Jim Moriarty.

Still, no one wanted the company to crumble, but piecing together a well-orchestrated season that wouldn't conflict with any of the current shows listed in the city was a difficult undertaking. Moriarty had found their greatest triumph and exploited it like a child with its favorite dolly.

It was that kind of knowledge that cracked Molly's normally optimistic façade. She would always have faith even in the darkest situations. She just couldn't even see a glimmer of hope in this one.

"Looks like this might be our last Christmas in London, Toby." She smoothed down the fur of her orange tabby who hummed from her lap in pure delight making Molly smile. Her cat would never care where they landed so long as she fed him and had a lap for him to sit on.

_At least there is one constant in my life,_ Molly thought with a sigh as she set aside the purring mound and finally relented to the idea of trying to get some sleep even if that meant just staring at the ceiling for another two hours until her mind became too exhausted to think any longer. She muddled into the kitchen with her cup, feeling her way through the dark, and dumped the cold contents down the sink.

The quiet of the night shattered though when a deafening bang came against Molly's front door. She jumped, letting out a startled gasp as her sky blue mug slipped from her fingers and shattered on the cold tile floor. Adrenaline pumped through as the front door opened and a dark mass made its way into her flat with a swirl of their long coat. Molly stopped short of screaming when in the dim glow of her Christmas lights Sherlock Holmes turned and faced her.

"You should upgrade your security. Your locks really are too easy to break through," he said as he politely locked the door for her, this time setting the security chain and deadbolt.

"What are you doing here?" Molly clutched the front of her robe tighter.

Her director looked incensed, maybe even confused, as his head swiveled around her home in a brief appraisal before he shook himself and placed his fingers on his temples.

"I need to think," he said in a gruff voice as he breezed past her form, down to her bedroom. He threw off his _Belstaff_ coat and scarf behind him in the hallway as Molly hastened to pick them up off the ground before Toby decided to claw at the pieces of clothing.

"Sherlock, is something wrong? Why are you here?" She followed urgently behind him, but he ignored her and flung his suit jacket off.

Molly squealed in annoyance when the object landed on her head and she struggled to get free of it. She finally wrenched the expensive Armani piece off and turned to scowl at Sherlock who was unbuttoning his shirt sleeves and rolling them up his forearms. He was intent upon ignoring her, but Molly was not having any of that. She grabbed his arm and for a moment it was if she had burned him as he tore his arm from her.

"Tell me what has happened." Her voice was flat, going to the commanding tone she used on the stage hands and actors when she needed them to focus.

"Not now." Sherlock laid down on her sunny yellow bed spread without another word and brought his fingers to his lips.

"Sherlock!" Molly indignantly scowled at him.

"Thinking!" Sherlock held up a hand to silence her before bringing his fingers to his lips in that silent mask of concentration.

Untapped fury coursed through Molly as she stared down at the petulant man hogging up her bed. She shut her eyes, almost on the verge of smacking him for not providing her an explication when she let out a loud, shuddering breath of annoyance instead. She stomped over to whisk away Sherlock's discarded bits of clothing before making her way out into her living room. She threw the mass of clothing onto her couch and barely registered the dull thunk of Sherlock's phone falling out and landing on the floor as she turned on her kitchen light and set about cleaning up her broken mug.

She tried to calm herself down as she worked, wondering if John even knew where his friends was at this hour and hoping that he'd be able to come retrieve the man if she could get a hold of him. Because it was midnight and there was only so far Molly's generosity and patience could go at the moment.

She was crouched on the floor with a wet rag trying to wipe up a few of the smaller shards, debating whether or not she could get Sherlock to pay for a new mug, when a soft effeminate moan broke her concentration. Her head snapped up, completely confused and alarmed. She peeked out from her kitchen into the living room and saw Sherlock's phone glowing on the floor, indicating that he had a text message. Molly dropped her rag to the countertop and went to pick up Sherlock's phone thinking that perhaps John had changed his text tone as some kind of joke to annoy his friend. Her suspicions were wrong though as she pulled up the text message and saw _The Actress_ blazing across the screen.

_Brainy is the new sexy, Mr. Holmes. Maybe next time you'll win the game._

For a moment Molly thought she must have been in a bizarre nightmare. There was only one person who she had commonly heard Sherlock refer to as The Actress and that was Irene Adler. The dawning realization that the text-tone was Irene coming to climax made Molly shut her eyes to hold back the onslaught of potential tears.

_No, not tonight. Don't do this to yourself tonight,_ she thought as she felt her cheeks burn with shame. She hastily shoved the phone back into Sherlock's coat pocket and curled up in her arm-chair to stare at the pile of clothing.

She ran her fingers through her hair and then leaned her forehead against her left hand as she tried to convince herself that this wasn't a big deal. After all, she'd always had her suspicions about the two of them. Irene and Sherlock were as idyllically matched mentally as they were physically. It came as no shock to her that he and her…

Molly swallowed hard, willing herself to not think of the pair of them together though it became increasingly more difficult with Irene's moan burrowing ever deeper into her neurons. She'd probably never forget it.

"Just stop it!" She whispered harshly to herself as she jumped up from her seat and hastened to hang up his things on the rack by her door. She reminded herself yet again that this was for the best. She wasn't going to compete against Irene Adler for the heart of Sherlock Holmes. It was losing battle and she was tired of never being the victor. She had to let go.

She peeked into her bedroom one last time to make sure that the director was still tucked away inside his Mind Palace before grabbing an extra blanket and pillow to go make her bed on the couch, finding that she was now much too exhausted to worry anymore.

* * *

A sharp ping and a commercial for _Cadbury Crème Eggs_ made Molly awake with a gasping start as she struggled with her blanket until Sherlock grasped her arms in a gentle hold to keep her from flailing.

"It's just me." His baritone voice rumbled in a gentle cadence that Molly assumed was him putting on his 'soothing' tone.

She cracked her eyes open and wiggled out of his hold as she pulled up into a sitting position against her pillow and the couch's arm rest.

"What are you doing?" Molly winced at the glare of the TV and turned from it as she mumbled: "What time is it anyways?"

"Early enough to catch one of those insipid news shows," Sherlock said as he turned on one of the table top lamps by the couch causing Molly to groan and bury her face into her blanket.

"Couldn't you've watched telly at your own flat?" She muttered as her eyes began to water and adjust to the changes.

"You wanted to know what was going on." Sherlock tugged at her blanket until her face came up out of the mass. "Watch."

Molly scowled at him as they sat and watched the early morning news where they talked about how cute cats were and what household products were the most detrimental to your health. Fifteen minutes into the program Molly was certain she was going to fall back asleep when Sherlock said: "This is it."  
Molly sat up a little straighter and sighed in a lack of understanding when the anchors began to speak about the newest James Bond film which had proudly announced last night that they were embarking on a new installment.

_"The James Bond franchise is making another leap forward as they announced Andrew Baedecker will be the next 007 to grace the cinematic screen. But what is a debonair spy without a few Bond girls? Following an unusual controversy over what appears to a few contract disputes 007's newest femme fatale was reveled."_

A headshot of Irene Adler flashed on screen. Her lips curled up into that smirking-smile of hers under _Revlon Red_ lipstick.

_"Well respected stage actress Irene Adler has been charged to play the part of a yet unknown character though she has been cheekily called 'The Whip Hand' by the producers of the film who promise something that will be in the vein of Ian Fleming, but will take Bond to a level we have never seen before."_

Sherlock lowered the television volume until it was at a dead mute while Molly sat their horrified as the news hit her. She looked over at Sherlock who was leaning his elbows on his knees with his face pressed against his interlaced fingers. As she stared at him she felt the bubble of hurt that had been welling inside her turn to pure dread as she struggled to find something—anything—to say to end the silence between the pair of them.

"She is a talented _actress_, isn't she?" The word actress came out in a venomous tone as Sherlock moved his chin on top of his hands to speak.

Molly could feel the anger radiating off him and felt herself instinctually still in an effort to do as little as possible to keep him from going off. She had seen Sherlock angry before. That was nothing new. This was different though. Irene Adler had broken a small piece of Sherlock Holmes and Molly wasn't sure how that was affecting him.

"Sherlock…did…?" She gulped down a breath of air, swallowing her words when Sherlock gave her a sideways look that physically pained her. Yes, broken was the right word to describe that feeling behind his eyes.

"No." He turned away from her making Molly blink in confusion before he continued. "I did."

"What?" She shook her head in disbelief, her auburn hair tangling even more in the process. "You wouldn't do that. You'd never help him."

"I did even if it was unintentional." Sherlock leaned back against the couch. "Though my brother told me it was his fault for setting her in my path. He thought I wouldn't fall for her charms."

Molly let that sentence wind through her head before letting out a soft "Oh" to just fill the void of silence before returning her gaze back to the muted television.

"I didn't know you two were close." She mumbled the sentence feeling somehow stunted for Sherlock admitting to such a thing.

"We're not." Sherlock snarled, his face scrunching up as though he'd swallowed something distasteful.

"I don't understand." Molly admitted, bewildered.

"She used me." He turned to face her completely and Molly now understood more accurately why he had been in such a frenzy when he'd stormed through her apartment. Irene Adler had tapped a nerve that had left him raw and he didn't how to cope with that.

"Are you okay?" Molly leaned forward hesitantly and made to touch his arm, but he moved away from her before she could grasp a hold of him.

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" Sherlock stared down at her in a way that made Molly feel small and she sighed.

"No reason," she said knowing he would never admit to how deeply he felt betrayed if her suspicions about the depth of their relationship were true. "How did it all happen?"

"I'm sure you'll get a full recount of the story from John or Mary." Sherlock rolled down his shirt sleeves and buttoned them again. "I wouldn't be surprised if the whole company knows by the end of the week. That will be thrilling." His mouth set into a grim line as he stalked over to the door to get the rest of his things.

"But I'm asking _you._" Molly stumbled out of her blanket cocoon and over to him, blocking his only exit out of her flat as she leaned against door. "I'd rather hear it from you…Sherlock, please."

The light from the TV flickered across Sherlock's face and Molly saw a momentary flicker of surprise on cross it before he put his mask back on, effectively shutting her out.

"You should have called John to come collect me." He stated in a flat tone.

"But I didn't." Molly's voice came out in a whisper as her face warped into concern. "Sherlock, are you going to tell me what happened?"

He upturned his coat collar as he loomed over her, maintaining eye contact with her as he stopped within a hairs breath of her face and reached around her to unlock the door and remove the chain. Molly shut her eyes, accepting that he would not tell her anymore, and tried to keep her breathing even as he remained tight within her personal space.

"Thank you." He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently moved her to the side to let himself out.

As the door clicked shut Molly let out a puff of air and felt her mind start to churn with new fears. She raced over to her window, staring out at the dark figure walking off into the mists of the early morning before he disappeared around the block.

She might have been able to convince him to stay. She might have been able to force him to tell her what had happened, but some small part of her didn't want to know and if Sherlock had sensed that hesitation in her then maybe this was his small way of sparing her the pain and embarrassment of all that. It did not, however, ease the ache in her heart and the worrisome questions that roamed through her brain that this might be the end of the company after all. 

* * *

**A/N: **I am so sorry for the lateness of this. Since this story is focused on Molly's point of view it's hard to imagine how she would have found out about Irene especially when in canon there isn't a focus on her reaction as much in Scandal in Belgravia. So this was what I found to be the most appropriate at the time to move the plot along. Don't worry though! Irene will be back. She's not gone forever. :)

Guest- So happy to see you have returned, dear!  
Geetha Iyer- Aw, you returned too! So happy hear from.

I apologize to you both and everyone else, again, for the lateness. Maybe this satiate you for about a week (at least hopefully it is a week(


	4. Chapter 4

**Ch. 4 **_**Masking **_

Everyone always cited Sherlock Holmes as being a Drama Queen (which Molly couldn't argue against); however, if he was a Drama Queen then Mycroft Holmes was certainly a Diva.

The moment Sherlock had fled the quiet comfort of Molly's flat she had felt certain that within a half-an-hour Mycroft would whisk her away to the company or some darkened room at a societal tea club to try to weasel out whatever information Sherlock had imparted to her (Mycroft Holmes was nothing if not nosey). Yet the day stretched on and Molly found that the long shadow of her boss had not yet casted itself over her tiny complex.

She spent her day listening to the reports on Irene's newest role (growing paler with indignant anger over the situation) and cleaning to the point of being able to see her own haggard expression in the wood grain of her coffee table. She had finally given up on brooding in the house when her stomach growled and she dashed out to her nearest _Tesco_ for some much-needed groceries. After all, milk was not supposed to be the viscosity of cottage cheese.

She'd walked in a hasty blur as her mind played a guessing game over how Mycroft would announce himself. The scenarios were becoming hysterical as she imagined things from him gliding up alongside of her in a dark car to waiting until she had returned with fresh milk and biscuits so he could pop in for tea.  
Her giggles over the idea came to an end when she returned home to find Anthea leaning against a non-descript luxury black car with an equally non-descript security guard standing beside her. One look at the brooding, pale figure beside PA and Molly felt that the situation was no longer as funny as it had been just moments ago.

Anthea had not once looked up from the phone in her hand as she proceeded to open the car's back door in a silent command to get in that quartered no argument. Molly shifted her _Tesco_ bags around as she stood in front of Anthea.

"Can't I just—"

"No." The PA firmly replied as the security guard took Molly's bags from her and unceremoniously dumped them into the boot of the vehicle.

"But there are perishable things—"

"Mycroft will reimburse you," Anthea said, pushing the woman into the car with a firm guiding hand.

It was an absurd moment to the stage manager. She understood that Mycroft was a man who commanded immediate attention because he seemed to be at the heart of the theater world. Nonetheless, that really was no excuse to not let her put up her groceries. It would've taken all of five minutes. Again, the term Diva popped into Molly's head.

The drive was silent as Molly fretted about her groceries going to waste when bigger concerns other than cottage cheese milk stopped her afternoon mind's ramblings. She was going to a meeting with Mycroft Holmes, a meeting where a bodyguard was needed as an escort and where Anthea _appeared_ as serene as a water-lily in Monet's garden. It was the mask of a woman who was hiding a secret. A big one.

"What should I be expecting?" Molly got up the courage to ask, wincing as she heard the desperation in her own voice. She met the bodyguard's gaze in the rearview mirror though he gave nothing away as he directed his eyes back to the road.

Anthea stopped mid-text message to look up at the other woman. Still with that same unreadable look that made Molly apprehensive.

"Relax, Molly, he's not going to fire you." She returned back to her phone. The tone in her voice sounded rehearsed as though she had practiced those rounded, calming syllables in the mirror all morning. She made a notable pause that made Molly suck in her breath in anticipation.

"That is, if you cooperate." She wasn't looking at Molly as her attention was back on her phone, texting at a rapid-fire pace to a party unknown.  
It wasn't the tone of Anthea's voice or the way she spared the other woman a sly glance, but that what she had said was a total fact when it came to dealing with Mycroft Holmes that made Molly decide to stop asking questions because she knew she wasn't going to like the answer.

* * *

Broody, as Molly had mentally dubbed the security guard with the unpleasant face, escorted her and Anthea into the theater which now had more than a few lurking shadows that were not theater ghosts wandering the lobby.

The usual noisy cacophony of actors warming up or tech hands running around rendered silent, replaced by the soft treads of the security team that filtered in and out of the hallways. It was a harsh reminder that Molly's part of the world had now been irrevocably poisoned by the twisted devices of Moriarty and it would never be the same again. The thought made the stage manager stop short in the hallway before the back offices as her nerves rendered her immobile.

"Keep moving, Ms. Hooper," Broody said with an unexpected American accent. It almost made Molly giggle except she was consumed with fear, rooted to the spot as her fingers curled into her palms causing half-moon indentions in the soft, malleable flesh.

"It's alright, Neilson." Anthea waved the man off as she came up to Molly, staring her down.

Nothing was said out loud between the two women, but for first time that afternoon, Anthea dropped a portion of her mask to show a trace amount of fear in those light blue orbs, reminding Molly that she wasn't the only one who now had concerns about her own future. It was enough to bring the stage manager back to the present as her hands unclenched themselves and Anthea glided away.

"Shall we?" Anthea opened the door to allow Molly passage into the waiting room as the former one shifted back into her usual collected self.

Molly gave a timid nod as she strode in ahead of Anthea, stopping short when a young man jumped to a standing position before all three of them. He was attractive with sweet looking brown curls and legs that would have made him seem gangly had he not been so impeccably dressed in a handsome blue suit. Molly looked down at her own multi-colored jumper, khaki pants, and shapeless overcoat feeling more than a little inferior.

"Uh, hello." He managed to blurt whilst brushing a few errant curls from his forehead.

"Hello..." Molly breathed trying to smile though her muscles felt strained and she was certain it came out more of an awkward grin.

_Why do gorgeous men drop into my life at the most inconvenient of times?_ She thought turning to Anthea for introductions when the young man's eyes cut from her to the PA who was now poised to knock at Mycroft's door.

"Sit down, Mr. Reeves, we'll get to you in a minute," Anthea said with another sigh when the man made to move again and this time knocked over a plant.

"It's just that—" He haphazardly dumped the soil back into the pot and moved around in a flurry over where to put the thing when he'd just given up and remained holding it. "I've just been here for near forty-five minutes and I haven't heard anything other than a lot of yelling…so…should I…leave then?"

Anthea stared at the man as though he had grown two heads while Molly thought she heard Neilson mutter something like "idiot" though when she turned around to look at him he was as stone-faced and disregarding as ever.

"Right, I'll just wait." Mr. Reeves looked around as to where he should put the plant again when Anthea plucked it from his hands.

"Sit. Down." She ordered and this time he took an immediate seat on one of the crème colored chairs and started to fidget.

Molly felt he would have looked endearing if she couldn't see how skittish he was about the whole event. Not that she could blame him especially since he said he'd been hearing a lot of yelling coming from Mycroft's office. She would have left a long time ago if she'd been in his shoes.

Anthea placed the potted plant on her desk before turning to the door of Mycroft's office and knocking twice on the intricately carved mahogany. There was a pause before a gruff "enter" was heard causing both Molly and Mr. Reeves to jump. Neilson and Anthea remained unaffected as the PA opened the door and gestured for Molly to enter.

Molly spared a sympathetic glance at Mr. Reeves before walking into Mycroft's office, finding the owner not behind his desk but toe to toe with his own brother while John stood to the side looking tense, almost drained over the situation. The scene caused Molly to freeze by the door as though she were prey afraid of predators noting her existence.

Mycroft slowly turned to cross back to his desk, taking a seat behind it as he faced her and wearing the thin lipped smile he reserved for when he was truly upset. Molly gulped at the sight of it.

"Ms. Hooper, have a seat." He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk which Molly dropped into after placing her striped bag to the floor.

She spared a glance at John and Sherlock noting that neither man looked pleased although Sherlock looked positively livid.

"Did you meet Thomas Reeves outside?" Mycroft hummed the words as his face lit up into a smile as though he were a child about to get his way.

"Uh, momentarily," Molly said confused. "He seems…nice?" Her head snapped back when Sherlock snorted at the bland descriptive word.

"Sherlock." There was an edge in John's voice. The tone, Molly remembered, was his way of telling the director to not say something stupid. Most of the time Sherlock ignored him though at present he remained surprisingly restrained even as Molly noted his mouth was in a flat line of disgust with his hands gripped tightly behind his back in a white-knuckled hold.

"He's one of our guest directors." Mycroft elaborated as he opened up a large binder on his desk that Molly recognized as a director's book.  
Sherlock usually just kept a small journal with scribbled notes he would not show to much of anyone so it was unusual for Molly to see someone who had gone through the normal analytical process. It was refreshing in an odd way.

"He was the only one who decided to uphold his contract with us." Mycroft continued speaking.

"So he claims." Sherlock bit in the retort as Mycroft glared him.

"Whatever his intentions he is here and he has a show for us." Mycroft returned his gaze back on Molly with a look that was less angry and more cajoling.

"Beginning immediately, you'll be accompanying Mr. Reeves for the next two months as you work on his production of _Pygmalion_."  
Molly let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and nodded. She was still working—at least for a short while—for the Holmes men. It made some of the tension leave her body.

"That's fine," she said, frowning as a bothersome thought flashed in her mind. "But weren't we going to do _My Fair Lady_ this year? And now that Moriarty—"

"The two shows are in the horrid predicament of being pitted against one another." Mycroft grimaced as though he were passing a kidney stone.

"He chose the play that the _insipid_ musical was based upon!" Sherlock was now feverish with anger as he loomed closer to his brother, leaning on the other man's desk. "He should be removed." He snarled with revulsion.

"We don't have much a choice since you so generously helped that _Actress_ hack into our system." Mycroft spat, refocusing his attention back on Sherlock as he stood up to glare at him eye to eye.

Sherlock's shoulders rolled as he stood up straight, looking like he was about to antagonize his brother further when Molly interrupted him.

"What's done is done," she said in an attempt to end the bickering as she placed a tentative hand on Sherlock's arm to get his attention. "We can't change it now." She upturned her gaze on the director in what she hoped he would understand as sympathy, or at least forgiveness, before she turned back to Mycroft and removed her hand from Sherlock's arm. "What do I need to do?"

Mycroft passed a look over at his brother, who was now standing up straight and hovering just outside Molly's peripheral view on her left side, before shutting the director's book on his desk and handing it over to the stage manager.

"You'll be keeping an eye on Mr. Reeves while he is with us here at the company and you'll also be his stage manager. If he checks out then this might become a permanent change until after the season is over." Mycroft put his hands in his pockets and stood with a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he blinked downward at Molly.

"I see," She said, staring down at the binder in her hand for a beat with a small frown.

"Is that a problem?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow and Molly was reminded of their brief conversation after _The Seagull_. She fidgeted in her seat and shook her head.

"No…no. It's not a problem." Not for her anyway.

Her eyes shifted to Sherlock who was not saying a word. Her director hardly liked it when things changed without his express permission so she imagined he couldn't have been happy about the matter. As for herself, she wouldn't mind working with Mr. Reeves. No more ridiculously late nights or tantrums when something didn't go their way (at least that's what she was hoping for) and in the end this would be better for her own emotions. Maybe not being suffocated by Sherlock's overwhelming presence would help her get over him. Well, in theory that's how she imagined it would work.

"Sherlock, can't keep all the best people for himself." Mycroft said, having noted Molly's glance at his brother whose eyes had narrowed into a glare at the elder sibling. "You always were rubbish at sharing."

"You are about to saddle an incompetent ass with someone who is, by leagues, better equipped to direct the show herself." Sherlock's hand was resting on the back of her chair now, his fingers brushing against the back of Molly's ponytail as he pushed it aside to grip the back of her chair.

Molly's eyebrows rose in surprise at her director's venomous words and she looked over to John for guidance, but he just had his face in one of his hand and was mumbling: "Stop being a prick."

"Enough, Sherlock," Mycroft said, waving his brother off. "The decision is final and what would Ms. Hooper do otherwise? You don't have a show picked out and you've been _very_ adamant that I not fire her which might be better for her in the long run anyhow."

At this statement Molly grew hot with anger. She was not a child or a piece of furniture and Mycroft Holmes picked the wrong day to make her feel like one.

"I'm right here, Mr. Holmes!" Molly grounded out as she stood up to face her boss. Her cheeks turning a splotchy red and pink color. "You don't need to speak about me as though I am just wallpaper." Mycroft blustered as he stood up straighter.

"Why I never—"

"Not everyone bows down to your ego, Mycroft." Sherlock cut in with a self-righteous smirk.

"Stop it!" Molly turned to him, catching him by surprise and causing her to lower her voice. "You're no better at times, Sherlock."

A pinched look of glee crossed Mycroft's features while Sherlock looked affronted.

"I am nothing like—"

"I don't care," Molly said to him as she glanced back to John for encouragement. He nodded in agreement with her, pushing her to go on. "None of us do. Just set aside…whatever this is—" She gestured between the two men. "Moriarty is destroying our livelihood at every turn and you two are fighting like the Queen's corgis over a tennis ball."

A snicker of laughter came from the back of the room and everyone looked to John who coughed and tried to quiet his amusement as he righted himself.

"Right, what she said." He smiled as Sherlock and Mycroft both rolled their eyes over the affair though they did not continue argue their superiority.

"Point taken, Ms. Hooper." Mycroft picked up his phone, seeming unaffected by her pronouncement though he did raise an eyebrow in a questioning manner which made Molly proud of herself. The Diva needed to learn, just like his brother, that even the most patient person had her limits.

"Send him in." Mycroft ordered into the speaker. He hung up the phone and walked around his desk as Mr. Reeves stepped in looking as uncomfortable as a school boy at his first dance.

"Mr. Reeves, we're so sorry to keep you waiting." Mycroft's thin lips perked into a quaint smile.

"That's alright." The other man responded as he smoothed a hand down the front of his suit looking uncomfortable.

"If you have a few more minutes I thought you'd go over your set aspirations with our technical director John Watson and get acquainted with your stage manager Molly Hooper." He gestured to each individual and Mr. Reeves gave a small nod of acknowledgement. "My brother and I are more than satisfied with your director's book—" There was a snort of derision from Sherlock which earned another withering look from his brother and a sigh of exasperation from Molly.

"Well, at least _I am_ and in the end that is all that counts as I sign your paychecks. You can begin auditioning as early as next week and will have free reign of one of the rehearsal halls immediately thereafter. You are dismissed."

There was a mass exodus to the door until Mycroft stopped them once again.

"Except you, Sherlock. We need to have a discussion, _brother mine_."

"Of course, _blud_." Sherlock turned to face Mycroft and Molly noted that his expression looked congenial in the way a serial killer might greet a new victim.

She spared a backwards glance as she exited with John and Mr. Reeves, hoping that the two brothers might just call it a truce for right now and knowing they were certainly about to get into another argument. Perhaps her outburst hadn't had the desired effect after all.

The three of them gave their acknowledgments to Anthea and Neilson, both of whom looked impassive to the situation, and crossed out into the lobby before diverting back into the auditorium.

The set for Charles Dickens' _A Christmas Carol_ was still up and under the burn of the fluorescent lights it looked cold and unappealing. A far cry from the cheerfulness it had invoked in Molly on the night of the Christmas party.

"That'll be taken down this week before you start auditions." John assured the new director as they made their way closer to the stage. "We just…" He sucked in one of his cheeks before letting out a breath. "Well, you know."

"Unfortunately, I do." Mr. Reeves looked forlornly around the theater.

"Why don't we get started?" The tension was getting to high for Molly and they needed to focus on what they had now. She relinquished her director's large binder to him with a smile. "Here you go, Mr. Reeves."

"You can call me Tom," he said visibly looking relieved that she didn't seem to be as severe as either of the Holmes men. "I'm really not that formal."

"Neither are we," John said with a small smile. "I'm going to go get a sketch pad so we can start to draft a design for your set." He disappeared backstage through the curtain legs leaving Molly and Tom alone.

"Why did you choose to do _Pygmalion_?" Molly examined her new director who had a mystified look on his face as though he were imaging what the space might look like on opening night.

"Mostly because I thought that I would still be able to bring the mindset of _My Fair Lady_ to it, which I was originally going to direct before…well…everything." He gestured around and Molly nodded in understanding.

Moriarty's collusions did not just affect their theatre. He'd destroyed Tom's start at the _Holmes Theatre Company _in his attempt to sabotage Sherlock. Molly imagined that it must have been awfully tempting to go to Moriarty's company when the process of a directorial analysis of a new play could take months. It would have been simpler to just throw away his integrity than start over and she admired the fact that Tom seemed to have made the honorable choice.

"Mr. Holmes also required a quick turnaround since I decided to stay so it seemed to be the best option to get things off the ground." Tom continued after a pause.

"That must have been hard for you," Molly said.

"A little." Tom shrugged, unbuttoning his suit jacket. "Though I have a feeling it will not be as difficult as actually working for Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes."

Molly nodded as she rolled her eyes, still flustered over the conversation she'd just had with the two men themselves. Tom didn't know what he was in for though he'd find out soon enough.

"Are they always…" Tom cleared his throat and looked around, noting the looming figures of the security guards just outside the auditorium doors. "Are they always that…barmy?"

He looked so serious over his word choice that Molly had to laughed and it took her a good moment to calm down, clasping over her mouth to stop more giggles from exploding from it before she spoke.

"They are a handful." She admitted with as much delicacy as she could muster, clearing her throat. "But you won't see either of them that often and you have to remember what we've just been through."

"So it gets better?" Tom's eyes brightened with hopefulness.

"In a way," Molly said not sure how to let her new director know that he'd just become a part of a company that seemed irrational on a good day. "You'll see. It'll be okay."

Tom looked less than reassured at her final statement as they turned at the gentle squeak of John's shoes as he reappeared on stage.

"_Finally_ found a sketch pad." He jumped from the apron of the stage to the auditorium floor and smiled. "My tech hands are getting sloppy. Looks like we'll need to start doing cleaning inspections again."

Molly had heard Mary talk about John's anal need for a clean and orderly tech shop. It's not that it wasn't warranted. The shop could easily become the biggest fire hazard in the theater if they were not careful. It was just that John ran it like a small military post and judging by his gruff tone it looked like the tech hands' Christmas break was about to come to an abrupt and meticulous halt.

"Now, why don't you tell me what you envision and we'll see if we can make it happen?" John broke whatever remained of the tension Tom had been feeling from earlier and the director began to speak in eloquent tones about his vision for _Pygmalion_.

It would be a good show. Molly couldn't understand what exactly Sherlock found so upsetting about Tom's interpretation of the play though she didn't doubt that the consulting director would not hesitate to inform her ad nauseam whenever he was in her company again. So far though she trusted Tom's vision and would reserve her judgments until after she'd read the play herself.

They called it a night after an hour as everyone's stomachs were equally giving an almighty growl. Molly exchanged numbers with Tom out of professional courtesy and he left through the front doors under the watchful eyes of the security team.

"Bit of a nervous bloke, isn't he?" John said watching the other man go as he and Molly lingered in the lobby just inside the doors.

"I think he'll be fine," Molly said buttoning up her coat. "At least he's not as…" She bit her lip trying to come up with something nice to say about Sherlock's directing style.

"Needy?" John supplied.

"Demanding?" Molly countered with a shrug.

They both smiled at one another and let out a few breaths of laughter before going silent when there was a bang of a door being slammed from the back offices.

"Speaking of…" John trailed off as they watched Sherlock round the corner into the lobby looking like he'd just swallowed something rotten.  
"John, Baker Street. Now." His face flushed and his eyes narrowed into slits. He threw on his coat in a flourish, turning up the collar as he walked out the front doors with Molly and John following behind in a slow pursuit.

"And there's the drama queen." John watched the man go with a shake of his head before turning back to Molly. "Better go calm him down before he starts shooting up Mrs. Hudson's wall again." He was poised to take off when Molly grabbed a hold of his coat sleeve.

"John, you'll make sure he's alright, won't you?" She said as she let go of him and shuffled from foot to foot. "About everything…Irene and all." Her voice cut out into a whisper at the mention of the actress' name as she forced herself to look straight into John's eyes and ignore his sympathetic gaze.

"Molly, I don't think—"

"John!" Sherlock called again.

"Lay off a minute, Sherlock!" John refocused his attention on Molly as he reached out to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "He just needs another play to get his mind off things. He'll be okay. Don't worry." John gave her a solemn nod, making sure she was okay before dashing after the director who was waving his arms around in a proper snit.

Logically, Molly knew that John was right. Sherlock just needed a new play to work on to settle his mind. She just felt that this was different. This wasn't boredom or agitation over a play, Sherlock's world was crumbling in a way that Molly wasn't sure he'd be able to stop and it was all at the hands of someone whom the consulting director had trusted to some degree. Molly knew her director was a man who usually used people. She had yet to see him in a situation where he was the one discarded and if Sherlock Holmes was the half man Molly thought he was then he was in deeper trouble than he was letting on.

* * *

By the time Molly had returned home she was feeling queasy and exhausted, making it a struggle to even go up the stairs of her complex to her flat. She also realized halfway home that she had not been reimbursed for her groceries and that they were still sitting in the boot of Neilson's car. If she hadn't been so tired she would have demanded that her ornery boss come collect her directly and take her to the market, but she'd seen enough of Mycroft Holmes for today and just wanted to relax.

Molly was digging around her bag for her keys when she finally made it up the stairs and only stopped her hunt when she noticed that her front door was open just a crack.

_Did I forget to lock up?_ She thought as her adrenaline kicked up a notch.

She gently pushed the door open and peeked inside, praying that it was just Sherlock inside only to be paralyzed in horror at the sight of Jim Moriarty sitting on her couch, petting Toby. A large bouquet of deep red roses lay on the coffee table in front of him along with a leather-bound portfolio that Molly thought looked oddly familiar.

"It's amazing how gullible some people are," Jim said when Molly was silent with shock. "Your landlady was more than accommodating when I told her how I was going to surprise my dearest girlfriend Molly. Such a romantic woman, Mrs. Feinstein." He paused to look up at Molly as he uttered: "How dull."  
His speech snapped Molly out of her haze as she started to shake in both rage and fright.

"Get out." Molly ordered in the strongest tone she could manage. "You have no right to be here."

Jim started to laugh then shake his head and cluck his tongue at her in a disapproving sound.

"Why, Molly Hooper, I am appalled. It's really impolite to not offer your guests tea when they come over." He smirked as he continued to stare at her from the couch.

"I am calling the police." She hastened to remove the object from her coat pocket when she heard Toby hiss and whine. She stopped and looked back at Jim who was standing up, holding Toby by the scruff of his neck in his right hand while he held a switchblade in his left.

"I never understood people's attachment to pets. It's just another way for me to make you miserable." The smile disappeared from his face as his playful emotions vanished into a terrifying dead stare. "Put down the phone, Molly, or I will skin Toby alive before your eyes."

Molly's heart lurched in her chest as she put her phone back in her pocket, remaining as still as a statue after she was done with the action.

"Good girl." Jim purred with a broad grin, keeping Toby a good distance from him as the cat struggled to break free. "Now shut the door and come have a seat." He gestured with the knife and Molly did as he requested. She dropped her bag on the floor by the arm chair and looked between Jim and her cat, mentally debating if she could get to the Toby before Jim took his knife to him.

"This is a cozy place though it looks a little lonely." Jim's eyes took in all of the knick-knacks lining Molly's bookshelves and table tops. If he was anything like Sherlock he would have picked out some of these most intimate details of her life in that single, vacant glance around the tiny flat.

"If you do anything my neighbors will hear me scream," Molly said as her heart continued to pound in her chest. She was amazed at herself for not stuttering.

"Think not, poppet." Jim ran the blade of his knife over one of Toby's ears causing the cat to hiss as he tried to swipe at his captor. "Do I have your attention?"

"Yes." Molly took careful breaths in and out to keep from hyperventilating as Jim dropped Toby who darted off into her bedroom with a loud whine.

Jim pocketed his blade and stared down at Molly.

"You're so boring. Can't understand why Sherlock trusts you so much, but I'm sure he'd just _adore_ it if I tried to find out."

"You won't get anything out of me." Molly's mouth set into a thin line of determination.

"You don't know my methods." Jim popped a piece of gum into his mouth and moved closer to Molly who was curling back further into her arm chair which only made him chuckle.

"Haven't you missed me, Molly?" He swept her up out of the chair by her upper arms, squeezing them in a harsh vice grip. A cry of pain fell from Molly's lips before she could stop herself as she started shaking again out of fear. This only seemed to incense her captor more as he smiled with deep satisfaction.

"I never like it when Sherlock has playthings that I don't understand. Tips the game in his favor."

"Let me go!" Molly struggled against his hold going to knee Jim in the pelvis when he whirled her around and pulled her back towards him, holding her arms tight against her body.

"You're a terrible hostess." Jim's dark laugh sounded hollow and cold to Molly's ears as she turned her head away from his when he leaned in close to her ear.

"I won't work for you." Molly hissed trying not to wince when she felt the corner of Moriarty's nose slid against the outer shell of her ear.

"I know…" He let out a long exhale. His breath tickled its way down Molly's throat causing her to shudder. "You're not as easy to peg as Adler who's just ambitious and I can't buy you off with money. No, it would take something very special for you to come work for me and when I find out, and I will, you're going to wish that you'd stayed at that miserable little children's theater and never laid eyes on Sherlock Holmes." He threw her off to the side onto the floor.

"For now though, I want you to give something to our favorite director." He moved to the coffee table and picked up the portfolio as Molly scrambled up into a standing position. "Tell Sherlock I have a Christmas gift for him that I think he'll just _love_." He elongated the end word with a smile. "It really is devilish of me to give it to him so late though now seems like the perfect moment to let him know I've been thinking about him." He sneered at Molly as he threw the portfolio into her hands. "Almost as much as you do, I think." He started laughing as he made his way out of her flat.

"Goodnight, Molly Hooper…" His voice dripped with honey in a sing-song kind of tone as he whistled his way down the building steps.

Molly dropped the portfolio to the floor as she hastened to lock her door. She stayed there for a moment, resting her head against the cool grain of the wood as tears started to flow down her face. She slid down the floor and took in heaving breaths as she tried to force her body to calm down. She dipped back into her coat pocket with shaking hands and dialed Sherlock's phone number.

"Moriarty was in my flat." She rushed to deliver the sentence before she broke down into a puddle of tears or Sherlock could deliver some trite end to the conversation. "He left something for you."

There wasn't a moments hesitation on the end as Sherlock replied: _"Stay where you are. I'm coming right now."  
_  
Molly could only sputter out a strangled note of agreement as she hung up and made her way back to her bedroom, locking that door as well as she tried to convince herself that everything was going to be fine even though it felt like a lie.

She had been attempting to coax Toby out from under her bed for the past fifteen minutes when there was a shout from outside her bedroom.

"Molly, unlock the door. It's just me." She clambered into a standing position and opened the door to find Sherlock standing there, pink in the face as though he had run to her flat. A light dusting of snow covered his coat.

"Show me what he gave you." Sherlock commanded.

She walked back out the living room with him to show him the flowers and the portfolio she'd left on the ground when she had rushed to lock her front door, noting that Sherlock had managed to pick it open again. Another silent confirmation at her lack of protection.

"He threatened to skin Toby in front of me." Molly felt like she was on the verge of crying again as she collapsed back onto her sofa while Sherlock examined the items. "How did he find me? I can't have him breaking in all the time like this." The out of control feeling she loathed came back. She started heaving as true tears started to pinprick the corners of her eyes as panic blanketed her senses

Sherlock was opening the portfolio with delicate care, ignoring Molly as she rambled on about how she would need to move and should call the police. It wasn't until she fell completely silent that Sherlock turned to look her.

"I can't…Sherlock, I just can't." She murmured not looking at him.

"Molly. Molly, look at me." Sherlock snapped his fingers in front of her face bringing her back into focus as he kneeled down in front of her. The motion threw off her control as fat, wallowing tears rolled down her cheeks.

Sherlock looked out of his depth as he searched around, probably wondering why he hadn't brought John with him, as Molly continued to douse her sweater in her own tears.

The day had been too long. She had suffered too much at the hands of others. Molly couldn't keep it together anymore.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock." She furiously attempted to wipe her tears and was surprised when a pale blue handkerchief was distributed in front of her face.  
"It's not your fault. It has never been your fault, Molly Hooper." Sherlock sighed as he stood up again.

She was half-tempted to pull him down towards her just to give her body the comfort that only another person's gentle hug could cure, but she knew better. Or at least she thought she did until Sherlock reached out for one of her hands and brought her slowly up into his arms.

"Relax, Molly," Sherlock murmured into the top of her hair when Molly tensed under his embrace. "It's okay…just relax." Molly's fingers curled into the lapels of Sherlock's coat as she kept a hold of him and he continued speaking. His deep voice rumbled through his chest and started to soothe her.

"He's not going to hurt you. I promise that nothing is going to happen to you."

She knew it took patience on his part to wait for her to calm down. Sherlock needed the facts and he needed them now, but she was grateful when he simply waited until she was once again herself to start asking her questions. When she pulled away from him with a small thanks she sat back down on the couch and lamented the loss of warmth his body heat created.

"What did he say, exactly?" Sherlock sat down next to her and Molly recounted the interaction she'd had with the other theater owner.

"What am I going to do? Where am I going to stay? I can't afford to move." Molly looked around her home. She didn't have much, but a move in the midst of their very rocky season could only serve to throw her even more off-kilter when she had to be more attentive than ever.

"I can have Mycroft use his security resources to keep watch on you, but in the meantime I texted John the situation and he's already gotten word from Mary that you can stay with her."

"Where is he anyways?" Molly sniffled, wiping a few stray tears away with Sherlock's handkerchief.

"He was pouting, words were exchanged, and he decided to pour out his frustration at Mary's," Sherlock said waving his hand in the air to indicate that this was the least important detail to the moment at hand. He picked up the portfolio, hands skimming over the smooth leather as he frowned.

"He went to the same place where you picked up my gift cover," Sherlock said as Molly watched him. "Even had it embossed like you did."

"He's been following me then?" Sherlock looked over at her and Molly saw the internal debate going on within him over whether to tell her the truth. "Don't lie to me, Sherlock."

"More than likely he has." The director answered with a grimace. "I didn't think his obsessive behavior would extend so far to you, but you've captured his attention."

"How fortunate," Molly said in a dry tone as she tried to substitute her sadness for anger in effort to keep from crying again. She felt dirty. Her privacy having been shattered at the thought that she hadn't noticed Moriarty keeping tabs on her.

Sherlock didn't say anything as he pulled out the contents inside the portfolio. A letter from the barrister offices of Cleaves and Moran were on the front page which Sherlock frowned at before casting it aside to Molly as he looked through the rest of the packet while she read.

_Dear Mr. Holmes,  
This is a letter notifying you that the lawsuit issued to you on the 12__th__ of November in the year 2012 has been nullified according to our client James Moriarty. It is with this notification that all charges in the copyright suit regarding the play __The Reichenbach Fall__ shall now be terminated hereby giving you complete rights to the play and all materials hitherto attached to it.  
_  
Molly stooped reading as she looked up at Sherlock who was holding a copy of his play. She had never read the piece nor heard anything about it other than the fact that the copyright scandal had been one that had almost cost the company everything. The press had been blood-thirsty in their desire to rip Sherlock apart during the judicial proceedings until the suit became just a volley of counter negotiations so tangled in legal battles that nobody could remember who was in the lead anymore.

Sherlock flipped through the script while Molly watched him with reverential eyes until he came to the very end. One of his eyebrows quirked upward and Molly resisted the urge to lean forward to read over his shoulder.

"What is it?" Her voice was soft and distant. Sherlock didn't turn to look at her as he answered.

"This is not my ending." His tone was distant. "He's changed it."

"How?" Sherlock handed Molly the play as she looked to the ending.

"Archibald is the main character," Sherlock said as he hunched over his knees and brought his fingers to his mouth. Molly skimmed through the ending and pursed her lips.

"He and Victor are dead by each other's hands." Molly drew her gaze back up to her director. "How was it supposed to end?"

"In a stalemate," Sherlock said. "The audience never knowing how the puzzle was solved because neither man knew how to put an end to things. It was supposed to speak about humanity's own confusion over life."

Molly felt her strength weaken as nausea swept over her.

"This is a sign, isn't it?" She looked at Sherlock who was still and quiet. "Sherlock, Moriarty wants to kill you, doesn't he?" He looked back at her, a shadow of distress marring his pale features for a brief second.

"He's changed the game to make more…permanent less symbolic."

"Sherlock, this man is crazy. You can't die for his insanity." Molly shook her head with the urge to spring from her seat and call in Mycroft's security team to watch Sherlock growing by the minute.

"I have no intention to," Sherlock said to ease her growing panic. "But I've left this idle for too long. Get your things and Toby. I'm taking you to Mary's."

"What are you going to do, Sherlock?" Molly watched as he pulled out his phone to call someone.

"I'm going to take down a spider's web," He said cryptically as he took the phone to his ear and contacted the last person Molly thought he would turn to. "Mycroft, it appears we'll be needing more of Neilson's help after all."

* * *

**A/N:** Moriarty just makes me squirm, but in a good way. He's a wonderful villian. I's also like to thank ladylillianrose for suggesting Pygmalion as the next production that for the Holmes Theatre Company. It is a tremendously lovely play and has helped immensely in the plot basis for this particular story. This story is also turning out longer than my last piece. I'm going to say 12 chapters max in case you were wondering what the count happened to be.

Guest- I've heard the choosing of a new Bond is a big ceremony in Britain. I don't live there so my knowledge is based on past hoopla surrounding the choice. I thought that it would be the most interesting way to bring Irene into the story because she would definitely be the type to not hold back when it comes to going further in her career. The Bond franchise seemed like a great shoe-in for that. Thanks for the review and happy to see you around!

Geetha Ayer- I got as close to a week as I could! I'm a couple days off, but at least it's long! Lots of stuff for you to think about until the next installment. Thanks for the review. I'm glad that things are becoming seamless from the show to the story. It's been a trick and a hard one at that. Please to hear it is working out well from your perspective!


	5. Chapter 5

**Ch. 5 **_**Mixed Signals**_

Confusion seemed to plague Molly's life like a bad dream. For four days she had heard absolutely nothing about the state of the security updates at her building and when she'd finally texted Sherlock Sunday night he'd simply stated: _Be Patient_. She'd wanted to throttle him for that comment, but she couldn't build up enough of anger to do so. He was doing her a favor. A big one and she couldn't have been more grateful for it. It also didn't help that the man kept making her…like him and that's where the real problem lay.

He had comforted her, procured an entire security upgrade for her building to make her feel safe, and seemed to think she was better equipped to direct _Pygmalion_ over Tom whilst expressing jealousy over the fact she could be working with the new director all season. She had originally chalked it up to him wanting things to stay the way they were.

It just seemed so much more than that. Of course, four days of complete silence from the buffoon himself with only that one particular text message from him made Molly think she must be delusional. The loop continued day in and day until by Monday she was vexed to the point of exhaustion and had no choice but to banish all thought of the consulting director until after auditions for _Pygmalion_.

Molly had read the play over the weekend and had a better picture of what Tom would need actor wise and already had her own thoughts about who would be best in what role. It had given her the focus to put Sherlock Holmes and his _bloody_ mixed signals (if that's what they even were) out of her mind. The consulting director conundrum could wait for at least one more day.

"Christmas isn't really turning out like I expected, Toby," Molly said to her cat as she donned a wool beret and long scarf before heading out into the frosty morning air with Mary.

"You ready, Molly?" Mary called from down the hall.

"Coming!" Molly gave Toby a loving pat on the head and rushed after her friend as they bared the bitter chill of winter morning. They huddled inside of Mary's car as they waited for the engine to warm up and the heat to start pumping which added additional time to their commute.

"Damnable weather." Mary huffed as she lurched into traffic.

Despite terrible road conditions (due to the wankers sharing London's roadways in Mary's opinion) the two women arrived in one piece at the theater where their ears were assaulted with the sounds of actors warming up in the rehearsal. The gruff mixture could be melodious one minute and like two cats fighting in a bag the next.

Molly didn't care. The whole group could have been singing _Never Gonna Give You Up _by Rich Astley and she still would have found the noise pleasing. It was a warm reminder that they were pushing onward in the face of overwhelmingly bleak odds.

Tom was already in the rehearsal hall setting up a white plastic table with an assortment of folders and notepads atop it. His eyes were looking over the sea of actors while most of them pretended he didn't exist. He greeted both women as they took seats on either side of him though he did spare Molly a full smile which only left her baffled, reminding herself that she had enough mystery in her life right now and didn't need any more from Thomas Reeves thank you very much. So she gave him a small grin and set about organizing herself while he and Mary chatted.

"Let's get them rounded up, shall we?" Mary clapped her hands together, silencing the actors in the room actors.

"Good morning," She said loudly to troupe of thirty-five men and women who murmured back a similar response. "I know this isn't as fair as we had hoped it would be considering we don't have the rest of the season. I can assure you though that several new shows will be announced in the following weeks so you will have something to work on before the end of January at the very latest. Today, you'll be called in alphabetically to first do your monologues and then we will group you for the select scenes indicated in the packets I had made for you." Each actor opened the red folders they were holding to look over the contents inside yet again. "Casting will be announced tonight before midnight and rehearsals will start promptly tomorrow afternoon here at 1pm. Alright? Out into the hall you go and let's have Lily Abbot first."

* * *

Resumes and headshots lined table where Molly, Tom, and Mary sat. They discussed the pros and cons of everyone involved. There wasn't a lack of great talent in the company, but it would be imperative that they got casting right due to their current circumstances.

_The game is on,_ Molly thought with a wry smile as Sherlock's expression came to mind as she watched her new director put actors together for a variety of scenes to see what their chemistry was like.

Molly admired how poised Tom could be with a bevy of new people and all of their talent seemed to be respond well to him, making casting easier for all parties involved since they seemed to get along with the director.

"Thank you, Greg and Lily," Tom said who had left the stage stacking him in a pile marked as: Colonel Pickering. While Lily was moved to the Clara pile.

"He'll make a great Pickering," Molly reaffirmed her director's choice. The role was a kinder foil to the harsh, brilliant Professor Henry Higgins. Greg would fill the part with ease and bring his own charm to it.

"I think so." Tom thumbed through a few of the female headshots. "It's just hard trying to find an Eliza though."

"Or a Professor Higgins." Mary downed another cup of coffee. "I don't see why. How hard is it to play a cantankerous know-it-all?"

Timing if everything in theater and if Molly didn't know any better she could have sworn that Mycroft Holmes had a six sense for knowing when he could provide the most dramatic entrance. He was striding across the warm wood floor toward the trio with a smirk on his face with two familiar faces trailing behind him: Sally Donovan and Philip Anderson.

"You can't be serious," Mary sputtered out first as she rounded the table to face her boss. "Have you forgotten what trouble they caused us?"

"Deadly serious." Mycroft leaned on his umbrella. His eyes pinched into slits as a devious smile split across his face. "Ms. Donovan and Mr. Anderson contacted me over the weekend and, after a strenuous discussion period with Neilson, were both deemed fit to return."

The two culprits in question winced at Mary's tone though they didn't try to argue their own merits. Both looked worn in the face, worried over how they would be received after their brutal exit from the company. Out of the two of them though, Anderson appeared the most grief stricken. Seeming to have aged at least five years in the two months he had left the Holmes Company and sporting a beard speckled with odd gray patches that made him look much older.

"What Moriarty did…" Anderson took a deep breath as he collected himself. "It wasn't right."

"We wanted to make amends," Sally added, putting a hand on Anderson's shoulder in a comforting gesture. "With everyone." Her eyes passed over to Molly who was frowning. "I realize you don't trust us—"

"You think?" Mary said, a hot blush spreading to her cheeks.

"We are sorry," Anderson said with a sigh as he shuffled from foot to foot. "But you have to admit that Sherlock doesn't make working with him a picnic."

Frustration crackled through the air and Molly cleared her throat. Her instinct to stamp out the impending argument before it got worse forcing her into the fray.

"Mary, let them stay." She looked up at the dejected faces of Sally and Anderson. "If Mycroft says they've been vetted then we can accept their apology and try to move on."

"More like harassed if you ask me." Sally glanced at her boss who was just smirking.

"Watch yourself, Ms. Donovan. I will not hesitate to permanently release you. Are we clear?"

Sally bit her lip and nodded. Her submissive acknowledgement to Mycroft's power begrudgingly rendered.

"Well if this business is settled. I believe you both are here for auditions. Inundate yourselves quickly. Ms. Hooper and Mr. Reeves don't have any time to waste." He strode off as though he hadn't just left a powder keg sitting in the middle of the room while Mary continued to fume and everyone else looked wary.

"_If _you stay. I don't want to hear one word from either of you that you are being unfairly treated," Mary spoke first. "Mycroft may have welcomed you back but that doesn't mean the rest of us have to like it." She took a deep breath. "Now give your resumes and headshots to Tom."

The actors turned over their materials who smiled and said: "Welcome back." His sing-song tine made everyone in the room wince.

Anderson and Sally's re-appearance turned auditions into a stressful production. People who had once been completely at ease with the entire process were now hostile and irritable. It wasn't until Greg noted that the returning actors had suffered enough and that they all had a job to do whether everyone else liked the decision to welcome them back or not that things calmed down. Needless to say Sally and Anderson's return into the theatre fold would be a long and arduous journey for all parties involved.

* * *

Complications only increased when Mary, Tom, and Molly talked into early evening about who was appropriate for what role.

"I hate to say it." Mary levied out a long sigh as she picked up Sally's headshot. "But Sally is very good as Eliza. Traditional casting aside she is fantastic for the part."

"I don't care about traditional casting," Tom said when her headshot came into his hands. "Though I think you're right."

There was silence at the table as the three of them pondered the repercussions of their actions if they picked Sally Donovan for the role of Eliza Doolittle.

"You know she's not a bad person." Molly told Tom earning a snort from Mary.

"She insulted you and me without provocation. I wouldn't label her as a saint anytime soon." Mary leaned back in her chair feeling less than charitable toward the returning actress.

"But she was just frustrated with Sherlock," Molly said playing devil's advocate.

"No, no absolutely not." Mary adamantly shook her head. "Things will be crazy. The whole company will go up in arms over it if she's casted."

"Look, I admit that she could be a volatile choice, but the point of her agitation is Sherlock not you, me, or Tom." She turned back to her new director. "You will be making a very strong choice in regards to acting abilities in Sally Donovan, but you will not make any friends in doing so. Do you understand?"

Tom leaned back in his seat and ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling the curls into an awkward angle.

"I…I think that you're right, Molly," He swallowed the thick lump his throat, trying not to look Mary's way as he came to his decision. "This show is important, too important to just leave to the capabilities of just any actor."

"Tom, I will stand by whatever decision you make," Mary leaned forward so she could stare Tom in the eye even as he tried to avoid her gaze. "But I implore you to think of what this could mean for your entire ensemble if you make such a decision."

The intensity in the room kicked up two-fold and Molly thought Tom would relent to make a safer decision. She was wrong.

"Then I want Sally as Eliza." Tom handed the headshot back to Mary who let out a frown of disappointment, but said nothing otherwise.

"Very well," she said straightening in her seat and adding Sally's headshot to the pile of actors who had been casted. "Who will you have play Professor Higgins?"

"Didn't you suggest Mycroft?" Molly teased in an attempt to lighten the somber mood.

"He'd never do it and you know that." Mary gave a pointed look to Molly who just smiled.

"What about Anderson?" Tom input the suggestion and caused both women to instantly sober from their merriment.

"You want to put both actors who have caused us grief in the main roles?" Mary's sass was coming out as she raised an eyebrow at Tom.

"Their chemistry is perfect and nobody hit the mark closer than him." Tom leaned back in his seat as Mary sucked in her cheeks as her eyes cut through the director as though he were paper.

"I'd rather you put Sherlock Holmes in the role opposite Sally and make them both swallow the bitter pill that comes from working with people you may not always like than have you cast Anderson." Mary vehemently swore. "It wouldn't cause me half the amount of ire you're going to get out of the actors if you cast him."

"We can look at the choices again," Molly interjected trying to salavage what remained of their casting session when Tom held up his hand to silence her which she did not appreciate.

"I'm standing by what I want here, Mary. I can make this work." Tom handed her Anderson's headshot and the theatre manager took it between her graceful fingers to stare at the portrait.

"Anderson and Donovan headlining a show again." She muttered to herself as she picked up the headshots of actors who had been casted off the table. "If they walk off this time I'll personally beat them to a pulp and then I'm going to find you, Tom, and make you explain the situation to Mycroft."

"So be it," Tom said, his Adam's apple quavering at the idea though he remained firm in his stance.

I'm going to go post this. Molly, meet me by the office so we can head home later when you're finished here, alright?" Mary said gathering up her things.  
Molly nodded in assent and smiled weakly at her friend. She had hoped for a drama free show with _Pygmalion_ since she wouldn't be working with Sherlock. She felt Tom's choices were strong, just extremely controversial.

"Do you think I'm stupid or brave?" Tom packed up his things without looking at Molly, his anxiety evident as he fumbled with the straps of his messenger bag.  
Molly sighed; she couldn't have her director second guessing himself now. It would not bode well for the rest of the production if he did.

"Both" She answered as she packed up her things. Tom winced at her straightforward tone, but Molly continued on. "But it has nothing to do with casting."

"What do you mean?" Tom's confused, panicked expression did not make Molly flounder for words. It had been one she had seen a score of times on her director's faces. Tom was no different from the rest of them and so she stood up straighter and turned over a speech in her mind she had adapted from director to director.

"You're already crazy to be a director. You're working for one of the most difficult companies in the London Theatre circuit right now and you just casted two blacklisted actors at the main stars of your productions. All of that points to stupidity." Molly's factual crack made Tom's shoulder's to hunch over in both anger and sadness. "But that you decided to do any of that in your life makes you brave. You're the only person to return from our season list. You chose Holmes over Moriarty. I think that kind of loyalty makes you brave."

"Wow." Tom breathed, looking taken aback as he straightened his scarf. "Thank you for that."

"You're welcome," she said as they walked out of the rehearsal hall back towards the main lobby.

"Thank you for the help, Molly. I know…" He trailed off, unsure of himself again. "I know this wasn't a requested assignment—"

"It's okay." Molly interrupted him. His rambling apology more sincere then she could handle at the moment. "I think I'll like working for you just fine. Don't worry about me."

"I can see why everyone likes you," he said with a smile. "You're like _sunshine_."

"Thank you…" She didn't know what to say after that. She liked getting compliments, especially from good looking men like Tom, but it seemed out of place for the moment. Her heart wasn't building a steady- staccato in her chest and she had a feeling she knew why.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Tom either didn't notice Molly's awkward thought process or chose to ignore it as he departed from her with another warm smile as he walked out into the winter night.

Minutes thereafter, Mary tumbled out into the lobby with a curse as she put on her overcoat and shuffled over to Molly.

"Is it bad?" Molly's face scrunched up with worry as she put on her beret.

"Won't know until tomorrow and I refuse to worry about it tonight," Mary said with a shrug. "But guess what? I just heard from Sherlock. You can go home now. Security is all finished being installed."

"Really?" Molly felt her disquiet vanish into joy at the thought of returning to her comforting, quiet flat.

"Really." Mary assured her friend with a laugh. "And don't look so relieved. You're acting like it was horrible living with me."

"It wasn't." Molly hugged her friend. "I just miss being home."

"And John misses being able to come over whenever he's off." Mary plunged into her purse searching for her keys as they took careful steps across the icy sidewalk to her car.

"He could have come over if he wanted to. He's your boyfriend," Molly said opening up the car door.

"You wouldn't have wanted to be in the flat if he had come over." Mary winked as they got into her car inducing uproarious laughter from Molly.

* * *

It was quick work to pack up Molly's belongings and straighten up the guest bedroom when the two women arrived back at the flat. It came as a surprise to Molly, who had expected Mary to be the one to take her back home, when Sherlock showed up at the door, looking a little pink around the face from the cold, but no less quaffed than he usually did. It was unnerving to Molly and not in a bad way.

"You didn't have to come, Sherlock." Molly felt surprise garnish across her face when he took her bags to the taxi waiting outside.

"Yes, I did." He stated once they'd also carefully stowed Toby's pet carrier in the backseat. "Who else is going to show you all the new security features in your flat?"

Not unreasonable, just curious especially with caught Mary smiling playfully from her front door and making kissy-face gestures when Sherlock had his back turned. Molly burned crimson at her antics and ignored the innuendo sparking behind her manager's eyes as she said her goodbyes and quickly departed with Sherlock.

Their drive was silent, not even any questions about casting came up from Sherlock. Molly had a feeling that he already knew Tom's choices and probably disapproved of them as he did with anything that he didn't personally stamp as brilliant.

When they pulled up to her building Neilson was waiting outside leaning against a black car, suited in dark colors, and looking no less unpleasant than the last time Molly had seen him.

"Ignore him, he's here for me." Sherlock told her as they gathered up her things. "There are new security cameras on the outside and inside of the building that will be monitored at a private firm who can alert the police to any immediate threats."

"Neilson's company?" Molly turned back to the security consultant who looked like he'd just swallowed a lemon.

"He was within easy reach," Sherlock said holding up a key. "New key for the main building door. I'd been hoping for something more high tech, but Mycroft's influence only goes so far." He unlocked the door and ushered Molly inside, noting to her that the door automatically locked behind them as they made their way to the lift.

The second floor was devoid of people as Sherlock slipped ahead of Molly to her flat. He produced another set of keys for the deadbolt and door lock for her along with a slip of paper that had a key-code on it.

"This is your pin-code for your personal security system. I programmed it for you to throw Moriarty off-track in case he ever tries to break in again." He stood up straighter, proud of himself. His hands clasped behind his back in a true air of superiority.

"You mean so you can break in without setting off the alarm?" She raised an eyebrow at her director.

"Perhaps…" He smirked thus proving Molly's hypothesis. "I updated your bedroom and all your window locks as well." He stopped talking as she turned the keys over in her hand. He looked it as apprehension and frowned. "Molly, I know it's not the best alternative to everything—"

"It's wonderful, Sherlock." Molly hesitated from reaching out to hug him and opted for a small smile instead. "You've done more than I expected."

"You're my stage manager, Molly. Nothing is ever _more_, it only _just is_ for your sake." He seemed more hurt by the fact that she would think she was undeserving of that kind of attention then he was in executing it. She almost ushered out another 'thank you' when he stopped her.

"Shall we?" He gestured to the door and Molly gave a curt nod in reply as she turned over the locks to enter her flat.

The first thing Sherlock showed her was how the new security system alarm worked as it started to beep as though there had been intrusion.

"It will get louder if you don't program in the code." Sherlock told her as Molly typed it in and he showed her how to arm it again.

It may not have abated every single fear that gripped Molly's body whenever she thought of Moriarty, but it did bring more comfort than she could possibly express to Sherlock. As she turned away from the alarm system to her director, she stopped in tracks when she realized that her home had gotten a few other updates since she had been away.

Books that had once been housed in milk crates for shelving were now in proper wooden nooks, her faded window curtains (once shredded by Toby's claws) replaced with new yellow ones, and Toby had been given a scratching post with a landing that had a prime spot in the sunshine.

"Sherlock this is…" She turned to the man who looked smug at her sputtering expression of astonishment. "This is wonderful. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome," He murmured leaning closer to her as though he needed a better view of her facial expressions. "It was deplorable to keep your books like that anyways. Honestly, I would have thought you'd have been more organized, Hooper."

Molly smiled at him knowing he was teasing as she opened up Toby's carrier, bringing the feline out and placing him on top of his new sunbathing platform by the window. He purred in delight as he swiveled around on it while Molly looked down toward Neilson. Her happiness dwindled into anguish at the sight of him.

"Why is he here for you?" She whirled around to face Sherlock who had just been standing there watching her. He didn't answer her at first as though he were working out the best way to tell her something and that's when she knew that nothing good was going to come of what Neilson needed from Sherlock.

"There have been a few changes made." He walked around her coffee table to stand beside her by the window, peering out at the street below so he wouldn't have to look her directly in the face. "You're not going see me around as much."

"What do you mean?" Molly felt her heart constrict as she brought her hand up to her shirt to play with the collar.

"Neilson's company is the one that runs the secure servers in Mycroft's office." Sherlock remained in profile to Molly as his eyes scanned the view from her living room either looking for threats or analyzing how best to abate her fears. "His pride is wounded that Irene managed to breach his security defenses and he wants to know how she managed to get the code in the first place."

"Wouldn't Moriarty have just gotten for her?" Molly said.

"Not necessarily." Sherlock backed away from the window, reaching for Molly's arm and gently guiding her to take a seat on the couch with him. They sat close to one another, knees scraping against one another though they each remained stuff and reserved in their posture.

"He's very good about keeping his hands clean when he needs to and if he was blocking her from getting that part in the new Bond movie I doubt that she would have hesitated to find a way to get a look at their security measures. Neilson probably never suspected that the cyber division of his company would have a leak. It puts the rest of his clientele at risk."

"That's why he's been so attentive." Molly's voice was low as her mind turned over all the new pieces of information Sherlock was giving her.

"Precisely," Sherlock said. "Though apparently he owes Mycroft a favor as well." His speech came to a halt causing Molly to look at him as he stared off blankly at her television. "I need to put an end to all of this and that means dismantling Moriarty's network."

"On your own?" Molly shuddered at the idea Moriarty getting a hold of Sherlock by himself. The man absolutely craved a moment like that if the new ending to _The Reichenbach Fall_ was any indication.

"My brother will be assisting where he can," Sherlock said. "Though he has more pretenses to keep up then I do. Too many cake tastings to attend to I suppose." A small grin appeared on his face, but Molly was not laughing as she continued to question him.

"How long?"

"He's a theatre owner not a criminal mastermind so perhaps two months…maybe longer." He locked eyes with her then and Molly wondered whether he was lying to her or not. His face gave away no indication one way or another.

"You'll be careful?"

"I'm always careful." He looked on the verge of pouting and that was when Molly let a small laugh.

"No you're not." She shook her head and then quieted. "When do you start?"

"Tonight." Sherlock broke their stare first as his gaze swept across her carpet, his curls falling across his forehead with the dip of his head. "Mycroft is going to tell everyone that I am out on various theatre expeditions. My expertise required in other parts of the world. Not an unusual announcement. It will keep people from knowing my true whereabouts."

"Then why are you telling me the truth?" Molly pursed her lips. "Shouldn't you check with John? Please tell me you've told John." She could only imagine the technical director's fury as well as heartbreak that his dearest friend would leave him out of such an extensive plan. She hoped Sherlock would not be so callous.

"We had an argument over the change the night Moriarty came to see you," Sherlock said raising his head and rubbing his jaw as though remembering some well-placed blow. "He's not pleased with the arrangement and I think he's still trying to devise a way to come along with me. You…" There was softness in his features that frightened Molly as his blue eyes pierced right through her brown ones. "Will tell me to be careful and know that I need to you here to help everyone including…" He looked comical as his lips attempted to formulate a word.

"Tom?" Molly supplied.

"Tom." The syllables formulated in an odd sound causing Molly to giggle. The joy short lived.

"Please be careful, whatever it is your about to do." She fussed with her hands before thinking _to hell with it_ as she leaned over to pull Sherlock into a hug. "I'd like for my director to come back in one piece."

Sherlock froze at her initiated contact and Molly was in the process of pulling away, feeling as though she had overstepped her bounds, when he took the moment to pull her in tighter. Molly shut her eyes, forgoing the warning in her brain to not become attached as she committed to memory the sensation of his lean body pressed against hers.

"If everything goes the way it's supposed to, I'll be back to harassing you and John soon enough. I'm sure by then you'll wish I was gone." He pulled away from her though his hands remained on her back.

"Unlikely," Molly brushed aside the curl dangling across his forehead, sighing when it sprang back into place. The intimacy of the moment hitting them both as she moved her hand back to her side and they awkwardly separated from each other. She escorted him to the door and stopped him as he was about to exit as she blurted out: "Do come back with a show, Sherlock."

The ridiculous command helped to brush off whatever had just passed between them as Sherlock smirked at her.

"I already have one in mind," He said leaning a hair closer to her. "Might surprise you." A few more inches on Molly's part and she could close that distance with a kiss. The temptation was running rampant through her mind until Sherlock whispered: "Goodbye Molly."

"Good luck, Sherlock." Both stepping out of their strange dance that Molly didn't know was a tango or a waltz at this point she was so confused. There was more to be said. That much was clear, but he'd already disappeared down the hall, ruffling his hair as he went, before Molly could attempt to even ask what was going on in that head of his.

"I'm forever watching you leave, Sherlock Holmes," she said watching him get into the black car with Neilson and drive away. "Maybe one day I'll keep you from running."

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry about the wait and any grammar or spelling errors. I lost my fulltime job so I'm more than a little out of sorts right now. I also realized in the editing process that I should have reserved the original beginning of this chapter into the last chapter so things got complicated. Writing is a devilish process. Don't know why I find it so addicting.

Thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed thus far! It's awesome to receive that kind of feedback.

Geetha Iyer: Thank you for your comment! I'm glad things are wrapping up in a way that people are enjoying. I'm hoping the complications prove to be well worth it in the end.

Black Night: Happy to make you happy! Sorry for this one being a late one. I think we could peg Sherlock as Jealous or maybe not. He's a very confusing man. Pygmalion will be a fun treat to work in. It's not going to be outright noticeable but there are subtle things in that play that I think translate well to Sherlock and company. Thanks for the review!


	6. Chapter 6

**Ch. 6 **_**Juvenile  
**_  
_A bit not good.  
_  
That had been John's apt description for the hell that unleashed once _Pygmalion's_ cast list became public. The press had a field day with the choices. Ugly cartoons picturing Mycroft eating cake and looking lost plastered from one page to the next with varying illustrations of Sally and Anderson looking like puppets being moved about by Moriarty. The noticeable absence of Sherlock didn't help matters either. Headlines raged that if Sherlock Holmes abandoned the theatre company, now that it appeared to be heading for impending doom, that there must have been nothing left in the company's bag of tricks to reclaim their shaky reputation. After all, stalwart, infuriating Sherlock Holmes wouldn't leave in a crisis, would he?

Molly hoped for the sake of his mission that the world would swallow that lie. He needed as much distance from the press as possible if he was to succeed. It wasn't lost on either herself or John that there were some serious consequences over what Sherlock was attempting to do.

The technical director had raged for days that his friend had not allowed for him to be of assistance. His ire only increasing when at first it had seemed that Sherlock would actually include him when he explained his plan, in short, to John over some tea on the day of his disappearance.

"I started to get dizzy." John explained to Molly the day after Sherlock left. "It was only then that I realized that the bastard drugged me. He tied me to my chair where I woke up moments before he vanished and parted by saying: _Don't struggle too much or chaffing will set in_. I sat there yelling for the better part of half an hour before Mrs. Hudson found me."

"I thought it was some odd sex game, to be perfectly honest." Mrs. Hudson told Molly when she had met with her and Tom over costumes for the play. "Truth be told I thought they were gay for the longest time. I never had a problem with that. Mrs. Turner next door has a couple and they're just delightful. Love who you love, that's what I say."

Humor aside, Sherlock's departure put a strain on the theater and the swirling angst which seemed to have wound itself tightly around the _Holmes Theatre Company_ culminated, unexpectedly, one fine morning during a _Pygamlion_ rehearsal.

It was the third day of blocking and they were nearing the end of the five act play. Tom's calm manner seemed to keep everyone in good spirits and Molly had been quick to rectify any misunderstandings translated from the new director to cast members. Hope blossomed in Molly that things were going to be just fine. They would soar above all the drama and fly right into a well-crafted production. It had been a nice thought while it lasted.

Act V was one expansive scene in the drawing room of Mrs. Higgins' home (Professor Higgins' mother) and as Molly was setting out a fake tea set for the actors to practice with there came a shout from behind her.

"You twat!" The words to rang out from Sally Donovan's mouth as Lily Abbott sashayed her way across the stage over towards Molly.

"Well it's not like it wouldn't be the first time. Right, Donovan?" Lily crossed her arms over her chest as she dropped her script to the floor. "In fact, I hear it's a habit of yours to sleep around with whoever you need to in this theater to further your career. Obviously, Moriarty didn't like the goods offered and felt it best to return them."

Molly's jaw dropped as Sally's scream shattered through the hall. She didn't have time to move as Sally took off into a run straight at her and Lily. The other actress shoved Molly aside in her terror causing the stage manager to topple over the set's prop couch and onto the ground. She fumbled to get up as the tea set came crashing right beside her face as Sally managed to grab a hold of Lily and tackle the other young woman to the ground where the two women clawed at one another.

"I'll rip your eyes out!" Sally's nails swiped viciously close to Lily's face who was holding the other woman by her wrists to keep her at bay.

"Help me! Help me, she's crazy!" Lily wailed, her eyes wide and panicking, not having known the other's woman's temper would have spiraled into physical violence.

Molly scrambled into a standing position as Greg and Anderson attempted to pry Sally off Lily. She snarled at the two of them and grabbed a hold of Lily's blouse refusing to release the other woman who desperately pushed against her.

"Sally! Let. Her. Go." Greg demanded as he pulled against, but Sally, completely incensed, let out a feral growl. With one free hand still enclosed around Lily's blouse to keep her close, she reared back to deliver a devastating smack against Lily's porcelain skin before anyone could stop her.

Molly grabbed a hold of Lily and tried to pull her away along with one of the other actors, Ben Carlton, who was playing Freddy. She turned to Tom who was standing there watching the scene with his mouth agape.

"Tom, do something!" Molly shouted at her director. His eyes snapped up to hers and for a moment he paled in true terror.

"I'll- I'll go get Mary." He dashed out the door in a coward's move much to Molly's righteous anger.

"Wait, no, Tom!" She huffed in indignation as the rehearsal hall door slammed shut and she was left to deal with the situation on her own which only grew more heated when Lily kneed Sally right in the face.

"Lillian Abbott, that is enough!" Molly gave a hard yank on the actress along with Ben to release her from Sally's hold. There was a mighty ripping sound as Lily's blouse tore open to reveal a purple, leopard print push up bra. Lily wailed in mortification as she fumbled to cover herself while screaming obscenities at Sally who continued to glower in pure rage.

"Nice bra, Lily." Ben smirked and Molly had to resist the urge to slap the other actor who was finding amusement over the situation.

"Did you see what she did? Did you see what that woman did to me?" Lily's hysteria grew to new heights as Sally struggled and strained under the holds of Greg and Anderson with renewed vigor.

"You're a piece of work Abbott. Go to hell!" Sally hawked a giant glob of spit in the other woman's direction whose shrieks split through Molly's head like a knife and that's when the stage manager was officially done with this nonsense.

She dumped Lily unceremoniously into Ben's arms and stood in the middle between the two women.

"Stop it, both of you!"

"I'll stop when that bitch behaves." Sally snarled as she broke free from Anderson and Greg only to be intercepted by Molly, her face contorted into pure disappointment. The interference allotted enough time for the two men to grab a hold of her again.

"Enough," Molly said leaning close to the actress who fought bitterly against her captors' holds."You knew that you would get comments like these if you returned so you're going to have to learn how to deal with them. If you get into a brawl at every rehearsal there will be a permanent end to your career here. You know that. So just _breathe_."

Sally's pupils, enlarged with fury, dimmed down from their saucer-like proportions as Molly remained unmoving. Her nostrils flared with her ragged breathing until the stage manager's words truly sunk in and she forced herself to take large gulps of air to calm down.

"Kowtow you slut." Lily nastily bit in with a triumphant smirk. Sally moved to make a swipe at the actress again only to be blocked by Molly who turned her anger to the younger woman.

"Shut up, Lily." She hissed at the actress' mouth sputtered open and closed like a fish out of water.

"What did you just say to me?" Lily's voice pitched into a higher octave as she squirmed against Ben who kept a firm hold on her lest she try to strike their stage manager.

"Another part of being in this production with Sally is that you learn to play nice." Molly hated when her job required her to scold grown adults like children. These were people who _should_ have known better. "Which means you're going to apologize to her right now."

"You can't make me." Lily scoffed looking more like a petulant teenager than a young woman of twenty-five and Molly felt the distinct urge to give her a good wallop. "You're just the stage manager anyways. You have no real power here."

"But _I_ do." The casts' gaze swiveled to the doorway where Mycroft Holmes stood with Mary and Tom flanking him. He glided across the floor to them, a vulture coming to the feast. His face down turned in a frown that was even more alarming than his thin-lipped smile of disapproval.

"Mr. Holmes, I just—" Lily gulped in air as she attempted to straighten herself once Ben released her from his hold.

"Ms. Abbott, do you title yourself as a _professional_ actress?" Mycroft widened his stance, placing his hands in his pockets and staring down at her from his great height like an ominous graveside statue.

"Yes." Lily mumbled unsure of where Mycroft's line of questioning was headed.

"Then I suppose you should have a sense of…decorum about you?" Lily's eyes casted to the ground as Mycroft continued to frown at her. "Ms. Abbott, I am not so pressed by Moriarty's dealings to not have you fired and replaced. A fact, I think, Ms. Hooper attempted to save you from before you rudely informed her she had no value."

Lily's eyes flashed up to Mycroft's before sliding over to Molly who was pink at the cheeks with anger over Lily's words, her charity toward the young woman drifting away.

"Now, are you going to conduct yourself in a professional manner and do as Ms. Hooper requests or shall I have you escorted out by security?" He leaned back to watch the color drain from Lily's face. "Tick tock, Ms. Abbott. We haven't got all day."

Lily struggled to stand upright as she walked over to Sally who was being cautiously held back by Greg and Anderson. The two women stared each other down, assessing their hair haphazardly swirling around their heads along with the blossoming bruises and scratches dotting their bodies.

"I'm…" Lily cleared her throat looking as though she might gag. "Sorry."

Molly sighed as Lily's snippy attitude poured out in the apology.

"With gusto, Ms. Abbott. I don't think Ms. Hooper felt you were quite on the mark with that one," Mycroft said with a derisive smile. Lily glared at him, but he remained cold and impassive to her pouting.

"I'm sorry, Sally, for saying those rude and untrue things about you." Lily clutched the front of her shirt tighter to her body.

"Was that so hard?" Mycroft glared at Lily who backed down from his gaze to look down at the floor. He swiveled in the direction of Sally who faced him, unblinking, eye to eye. "Ms. Donovan, I'm sure you could find it within yourself to be the bigger person in this argument." Mycroft's brown eyes glittered with a dangerous mixture of anger and an unannounced threat that she had to reign herself in or else.

"Apology accepted." Sally hissed between her teeth to which Mycroft tutted at in disappointment.

"Deplorable, Ms. Donovan, though it was big of you not to throw a haymaker into Ms. Abbott's face." Sarcasm leaked from every syllable that passed Mycroft's lips. "Now shake hands." The two women remained unmoving. Mycroft sighed in a dramatic fashion, looking heavenward for a blinking minute before setting his eyes again on the wayward actresses. "I don't have all day, ladies, and I will have you both removed from the premises immediately if you don't resolve this conflict now."

The two women glared at one another and just when Molly was certain they would both say to hell with it and start throwing punches again Sally proffered her hand to Lily who took it in a firm grasp. The pair looking at though they were going to squeeze the life out of each other.

"Good." Mycroft purred, seeming delighted. "Now just one more thing before I leave. Ms. Hooper has put up with quite the amount of abuse at the hands of both you. If I hear you putting one finger out of line from her then I will damage both your reputations so heavily in this industry that you will have no choice but to return to the gutters from whence you came. Your stage manager is second only to that of your director. On opening night, it is her show _not_ Tom's and _not_ yours. Consider this your final and _only _warning to keep yourselves in check. Is that clear?"

"Yes." Came the murmured responses of both Sally and Lily.

"Wonderful." Mycroft straightened his jacket and turned to Mary and Tom. "Mr. Reeves, keep your cast under control. I do not want to be summoned for another petty argument which you should have broken up not your stage manager."

"Yes, sir." Tom ducked his head, properly admonished.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," Molly said to her boss, truly grateful that he had the guts to do what her director did not.

Mycroft inclined his head to her and dipped out of the theater entrance calling for Mary in his wake.

Tom remained flustered, clearly uncomfortable with what had happened between everyone, leaving Molly to make the decision over how to proceed.

"We're going to take fifteen," she said with as much serenity as she could muster. "Lily, Ben, and Maggie you are dismissed for the remainder of the afternoon. Lily, go speak with Mrs. Hudson to see if she can get you something else to wear for your journey home. Thank you."

The actors looked back at their director who shook his head perturbed over whether to comply with Molly's direction or not before nodding for them all to adhere to the request.

"Uh, what she said." He uselessly sputtered out as the actors had already turned to take their leave of the rehearsal hall. The director's power over his cast having already slipped through his slender, untrained fingers.

Even after their break, it took awhile to get everyone back in working order. In the end, Sally managed to relax without Lily's gaze hovering over her and everyone else fell into step soon thereafter.

Molly, on the other hand, was absolutely done with the day. She stopped trying to bolster her director's confidence (entirely finished with his insecurities for the afternoon) and had remained seated and quiet for the rehearsal process, only answering when a question was asked of her. She radiated exhaustion and everyone seemed to accept that she needed to be dealt with a kind manner—except Tom. He seemed oblivious to everything.

"Alright now," Tom said as they neared the end of the scene. "Shaw builds up this huge amount of sexual tension between Higgins and Eliza which he abandons entirely as the script would call for you to just leave, Sally, without either you or Higgins making a stand to be with your love. I find this to be a complete travesty so we will _not_ be doing that. We will have the two of you come back to each other with Higgins dashing after you and you running back to him in this quiet moment of understanding and you'll embrace and it will be beautiful."

Molly frowned at the direction as the actors took their mark, her comment spilling out of her before she could stop herself.

"Tom." She called to the man who did a double-take at the sound of her voice. "I uh…" She cleared her throat. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

Tom blinked at her as though she was a statue that had just come to life. He frowned in confusion as he walked back to the table she was seated at.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Molly said realizing with panic that she had just second-guessed her director without even thinking about the ramifications of such a challenge. She swallowed. She was too far in the thicket now to back out and attempted to find the right words to not send her director into a tizzy. "In Shaw's version they don't embrace. From the excerpt I read in my play book he left it that way intentionally—"

"Oh, I know. Its rubbish, isn't it?" His confident laugh grated Molly's ears. "I mean he brings these two great characters together. A perfect balance to one another and then he just casts aside what sexual tension can clearly be seen throughout the whole play in this…cop-out from romance because he wanted to go against the normal standards of the day."

"What?" Molly stared at her director like he'd actually grown two heads. "But I read that wasn't ever Shaw's intention. Eliza was never to wed Higgins. She even states in the play that she won't."

"And that is where I see a fatal flaw in _Pygmalion_ unlike _My Fair Lady_," Tom said as he turned to give a quick smile to the actors so they understood his point as well. "Since we have to compete with the musical, the happier ending is a must for audience members and—" his smile wavered into a tight frown. "As the director, I see fit to take liberties with the text where I want."

"Tom, I just…I don't think that's the point," Molly said not understanding what was compelling her to argue against her director, a man who had not performed any slights against her other than to run away from a fight between two actors. Yet the compulsion to fight for Shaw's ending continued to tumble from her. "Especially, when the writer clearly states out his reasons as to why he did not want that."

"Molly." Tom cleared his throat in a tight, petulant laugh that indicated he was far from amused and stood up straighter. An air of pretention and confidence surrounding him that Molly's ideas would never be able to penetrate. "I think I know what I am doing and though I appreciate this intellectual repartee, it's not _my_ vision and I think we should leave the analysis of plays to the professionals." Scolding her like an owner does to a puppy, Tom turned away in a universal signal that this conversation was over and went about ordering the actors on stage not knowing that he'd just lost the support of his stage manager.

Molly's cheeks burned in humiliation over her director's scathing disregard of her opinion. She had made valid points supported from the writer of the play along with the textual evidence to confirm her theory. Her director had a right to his vision. He did not, however, have a right to demean Molly's intelligence when it came to the deconstruction of a text. Sherlock had been prone to moments like this, but whereas he would take criticism and shed logic as to why he thought what comments offered had no merit he would never have insulted Molly's intelligence in order to prove his point.

It was in that moment that Molly knew, despite everything that Sherlock Holmes had ever done to her, he was worth more than a hundred Thomas Reeves put together.

* * *

**A/N:** I realize this is a shorter chapter but I am pushing to see if I can get another one out in a week since I have some more time off. These two-week updates are dragging me down and I know the suspense is driving you all mad. Otherwise, be well and thank you so much for your continued support of my little Alternate Universe.

Black Night- Thank you for your sympathy. I'm hoping something new pops up soon. Happy you also agree with me about Sherlock as a good Prof. Higgins. Thank you for reviewing!

Geetha Iyer- Soooooo many choices. *rubs hands together* It'll all turn out in a cute segway towards the end. Thanks for reviewing!


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